Still Ongoing
by Sardonic Kender Smile
Summary: Sequel to Not Yet Finished. Now with synopsis inside! Not everything ends perfectly, especially not the first time. When Heath is wanted by Bern and his lover is loved by another man, how could it end well the second? HeathxPriscillaxErkxSerra.
1. Sparks

_A/N: WELL, howdy-do! Here comes the sequel to Not Yet Finished, for it was requested of me by a few people and then I was bribed with cotton candy which I CANNOT resist. What's the crazy mixed up plot this time, you ask? Well, we'll start off with Serra wanting Erk who wants Priscilla who wants Heath who wants to get away from Bern, then mix in some HectorxFarina and EliwoodxDella. It starts with the usual angst—whoop-dee-doo for that too—and of course we'll delve into my usual mix of craziness and teeth-rotting fluffiness. Or so I can only hope._

_**Chapter One—Sparks**_

"I…can't believe it," whispered Erk. He turned then, wistfully, and stared back into the bright ballroom where the couples who still had some energy left were whirling about. Nergal had finally been brought down, and to celebrate Lord Eliwood had thrown a grand ball in Pherae. Nearly everyone had come, and for a while it had provided Erk with something to study when he realized nearly everyone had also come with a _partner…_but now the very thought made him feel sick. He wanted nothing more than to forget everything he had ever seen or known about this ridiculous emotion inside him.

Unfortunately for the quiet sage, that wasn't about to happen anytime soon.

Romance unfolded before his very eyes in the form of the couples dancing, something so beautiful and at the same time horrible enough to tear his insides to shreds. Lady Lyn and Sir Kent—the talk of the evening had been their strange union—had been on the dance floor all night; along with Lord Hector and that loud Pegasus rider, Will and Rebecca, Lord Pent and Lady Louise, Lord Eliwood and his eccentric tactician, Heath and…and…

…_Priscilla…_

Her name was an incantation to Erk, more powerful and more wonderful than any magic word or spell that had ever left his lips. After all, anything so perfect must be held as sacred.

And near-perfect she was, at least in Erk's eyes, so near-sacred she was. She danced with an ethereal grace; her hair the color of a giddy flame, her deep eyes enough of their color to make even emeralds look more like blue than green.

Those beautiful eyes were trained on Heath's.

Erk couldn't watch any more. It hurt too badly. He turned away from the ballroom again and walked far down the hall, far enough so that he couldn't see the happy couples and they couldn't see him, far enough so that the music emanating from the ballroom seemed faint and distant, far enough so that perhaps he could forget the pain in his heart. He leaned back against the stone wall, feeling its cold surface against the back of his head with relief, and slid down until he was sitting on the floor. He closed his eyes and tried to block out his emotions.

At first his eyes stung, but Erk squeezed them tighter and tried hard to clear his mind. He was always good at staying calm and keeping himself detached from his emotions. He was nearly a master of not feeling. Finally he managed to bury his grief, and let out a small sigh of relief. At least he had the consolation of keeping his troublesome emotions at bay…

He could do that now. It was much harder to do before. It was so hard to do with _Priscilla _around. Something happened whenever he was around her, something strange that made him _want _to feel…

_And so I have, _Erk thought bitterly. _I felt. I liked her so much. I didn't want to, I tried to block it out, but they said it wasn't healthy…I wanted love, I wanted HER…I gave in…I fell head over heels…for the first time in so long I let myself feel…and NOW look where it's gotten me!_

"ERK, WHAT ARE YOU DOING ALL THE WAY DOWN HERE?"

Erk jumped at the suddenness of the very loud and very high-pitched voice, then felt a disgusted shiver run all the way through him as he realized who such a voice belonged to. Sure enough, Serra was at his side in a flash.

"Erky you goose, why have you been avoiding me all night? Honestly, you know that I'm such a good dancer but you haven't danced with me at all and you've seemed even grumpier than usual and now you're hiding out in the hallway instead of celebrating even though you _should _be celebrating because we finally smashed Nergal into the ground and now there's a GREAT BIG BALL and everyone looks so pretty and handsome and there's free cake!" The words tumbled out of her mouth so quickly it was as if they were all fighting for the right to be spoken first. Erk winced a bit.

"I am not _hiding _out here," he informed her indignantly, "and I shall have you know that I have no interest in dancing, victory, or cake."

Serra's perky face fell into a pout. "But why?"

"Serra." Erk looked away from her and muttered, "There's only one thing I want."

"What is it?" Serra asked, cocking her head.

Erk turned red, realizing she had heard what he had mumbled under his breath. "I only want solitude," he answered quickly. Though it wasn't THE answer, it was at least a truthful answer. _Alright, so it seems I want two things._

"Nonsense," Serra insisted. She grabbed his hands. "Come on, stand up now. You're going to dance with me."

Erk wrenched his hands away. "I am going to do no such thing."

"But Erky—"

"Serra. Please." Erk folded his arms and shut his eyes wearily. "Please, just leave me alone."

Serra opened her mouth, looking as if she wanted to speak, but no sound escaped her. She still stood there, however.

Erk sighed. "So…have you heard Lord Hector is dancing with Miss Farina?"

"WHAT?" Serra shrieked. Her eyes flamed, and she whirled around and sprinted back into the ballroom. Erk let out a mirthless chuckle at his clever way with words, a bitter laugh that quickly turned into a melancholy sigh. He would never have played such a trick on Priscilla…

Why couldn't she love him in return? _Why_?

Erk banged his closed fist against the stone floor and leaned his head back against the wall in exhaustion. He had observed her talking to Heath often during their quest to defeat Nergal…but he had always harbored a little hope that somehow she and the wyvern rider were only friends, somehow someday she'd be able to bestow her tender smile unto _Erk. _Now, seeing proof of her love for Heath…no, not only seeing but _sensing _and _knowing…_seeing them stare at each other in such a blissful manner…it had completely crushed whatever fragile dream Erk had been protecting.

_So much for learning to feel._

It was then and there, alone in the hallway, Erk decided that he would never let himself feel again.

* * *

"Lord Eliwood?"

Eliwood halted and let go of the hands of his dancing partner, turning to face whoever had addressed him. Rebecca and Wil both stood there. Wil looked exhausted, and even Rebecca's usually bright eyes had turned bleary to show how late at night it was.

"Lord Eliwood," she said, "Wil and I are going to call it a night. We're going to go back to our village, if that's okay."

"Of course," Eliwood replied. He looked around the bright ballroom with a smile. "Things still have yet to slow down around here…this celebration might go for days. You two can feel free to come back tomorrow."

"Such fun!" Rebecca giggled. "For once everything is perfect!" She grabbed Wil's arm, who smiled tiredly down at her.

"Here," Eliwood offered, "I will show you two out." He turned back to his partner and hesitantly asked, "Do you mind?"

His tactician grinned as tiredly as Wil did and shook her head. "Not at all."

Eliwood nodded at her and then ushered Rebecca and Wil out of the room. The tactician swayed on her feet a bit, as if suddenly realizing it was past midnight.

"It's past midnight!" Sain sang, twirling right up to her. The green knight was flushed with excitement and didn't look at all tired. "I could probably waltz until the dawn! Just think, Della—all the beauties of the army clustered into one room! And I have finally gotten Fiora to dance with me!"

"I thought I had forbidden you from fraternizing with the enemy," Della said, almost in a monotone.

Sain rolled his eyes. "Even when you're tired you end up using big words!"

"I'm not tired," she protested, her eyes already drooping. "And I can't help it if my vocabulary is vastly superior to yours, you stupid womanizer."

"And _now _you're cranky," Sain chided. He chuckled. "Look, I know Lord Eliwood wants you as his dancing partner, but it's late and you're young. Go up to bed."

"No, that's rude," Della insisted. She walked a few steps over to the end of the room, then climbed onto one of the benches hugging the walls and curled up on it, lying down. Her eyes were half-closed. "I have to wait for him…I have to…say I'm leaving…before I leave."

Sain clucked his tongue, but moved on and left the tactician alone. He wasn't finished with complimenting every woman in the vicinity yet, he couldn't waste his time bickering with a stubborn little girl.

Her eyes flickered shut.

* * *

The latest dance ended, a bit off-tempo. The hired musicians playing over near the corner looked as exhausted as the dancing guests did. Lyn never understood how music could take so much out of you, but she knew it could…she had seen Nils after he played, after she heard his very soul put into sound, and once that song of his was over he always seemed drained. Was it really that hard to play a few notes? No, what must have been hard was putting _emotion _inside of them. It must certainly have been something only a musician could understand, Lyn decided. Then she sighed, a tad wistfully. She missed Nils.

Kent noticed her sigh and hesitated before taking her hands for the next dance. "Lyndis, are you alright?" he asked with concern. "Are you weary?"

Lyn chuckled, sure she would never get enough of the emotion that always shone so brilliantly in her knight's eyes. "Kent, I'm fine. Absolutely nothing could make me feel otherwise."

"If you are sure," he said, though a bit disbelievingly.

"Of course I am." Lyn gripped his hand, not to coax him to dance once more with her, but to reassure herself that he was there. He was. Solid, real, steadfast Kent. Her betrothed. Oh, the ages she had waited for this day, the long months she had endured to be able to love him unrestricted by laws and politics! She sighed again, this time with contentment, and leaned her head on his shoulder.

"You _are _tired," he murmured.

"I suppose I am." She smiled, still not lifting her head. "Do you think we should go up to our rooms now? Things are taking so long to fully wind down…I'm sure the ball will still be here tomorrow."

"I believe so too, m—" Kent suddenly cut himself off. Lyn's smile grew. It would take him a while to rid himself of that awful habit he had—calling her by her title.

_No more titles for me! _she realized jubilantly, joyfully, _I am going back to Sacae! I can just be plain Lyn again!_

"Come," Kent said gently, breaking her from her happy thoughts. "Let us go."

Lyn nodded and raised her head from his shoulder, but did not release his hand as she wandered out of the ballroom. Kent followed, staring at her for the thousandth time that night to realize—also for the thousandth time--how gorgeous she looked in a ball gown. He had never seen her wear anything like it…normally she chose her Sacaean garb over such finery. And of course she was beyond beautiful as a Sacaean. But as a lady…_his _lady…Kent wasn't sure if he could find a word to describe her. Perhaps Sain and his plethora of poetry prose could…

Lyn kept on, up the staircase and up to their rooms. She released Kent's hand and stared at her oaken door, right next to his. Though the two rooms didn't join, she decided she had better make sure Hector didn't know how close they were…if the lord knew, Lyn would be in for no end of teasing. And if a servant were to overhear the teasing, she would be in for no end of rumors, either. The princess stuck her tongue out of the corner of her mouth in irritation. The only thing worse than a rumor was an _untrue _rumor.

Suddenly Kent cleared his throat. "Lyndis…"

"Yes?" She turned and looked at him. He immediately averted his eyes, fiddling with something small and silver in his hands.

"Well…my lady—I-I mean…" He sighed, then smiled warmly at her. "I suppose I should get to the point. Lyndis, we are to be married, correct?"

"Correct," Lyn answered, grinning.

"Well…since we never really said anything official about the matter…" Kent held up the shining object in his hand. Lyn's eyes widened as she realized it was a ring.

"Here," Kent whispered, taking her hand and sliding the ring onto her finger. "I decided I should make this more official."

Lyn stared at the shining band, absolutely touched.

"I am sorry," Kent continued in a murmur, "I could not afford a golden one…I promise I will have one for you for our wedding, but I hope you don't mind wearing a silver ring just for our engagement, just for now…"

"Don't be silly," Lyn breathed. Kent never failed to amaze her with his gallantry. "It is perfect. Any gift from you would be perfect."

Kent flushed and looked at the ground and mumbled something incoherent, obviously not knowing how to respond to such a compliment. Lyn twisted the ring around and admired its flawless surface.

"But…" she said with a smile, "You needn't worry about getting another ring for our wedding. You didn't need to get me a ring at all. In Sacae, the custom is that husbands and wives weave bracelets for each other."

"Really." Kent was surprised. "That's interesting."

"It's how things have always been done." Lyn was still staring fondly down at her ring, as if she couldn't believe it was on her finger. Kent could hardly believe it either. "Each bracelet represents the bond of marriage…separate strings weaving together to create something beautiful. Something very, very hard to break." She looked up at him and smiled again. "So please…don't worry about rings."

Kent's arms acted of their own accord, reaching out and drawing her close. Lyn's lips seemed to have the same problem—instinctively pressing to Kent's own in a tender kiss.

"So how much planning, exactly, do we have to do before the wedding?" he asked quietly once she broke away. She grinned at him.

"You stress too much. We'll get to details later." With a little laugh, she escaped his arms, but could not escape his smile.

"Of course, Lyndis."

_No more title! _Lyn thought again, excitedly. Absolutely glowing, she opened the door to her room and shut herself inside, leaving Kent alone with his own thoughts. _Weaving a bracelet? It can't be too hard…_

Life seemed pretty good to the paladin, until a sudden thought struck him and filled him with the panic of a man who has _no _idea what he's doing.

_I don't know how to weave!

* * *

_

Eliwood walked back into the ballroom, expecting to find Della teaching her new-fangled "swing" dancing to Canas, but instead found her asleep on a bench. Surprised, he crossed the room and stared down at her slumbering form with an exasperated smile on his lips. Sometimes she made him forget how young she was, barking orders to veterans like Marcus and Oswin like she had been born to do it…and sometimes, times like this, she reminded him she was still quite a child. He breathed a small sigh before sliding his hands beneath her and lifting her up. Ignoring the slight twinge in his heart, blocking out the remembrance of another girl he had carried in his arms what seemed like an eternity ago, he walked with steady steps out of the room and tried not to wake her. Halfway up the staircase, however, her eyes fluttered open.

"Woah," she muttered thickly. She looked disoriented as she realized she wasn't on the ground, and began to struggle weakly. "No, put me…I can walk…I—"

"Hush," Eliwood ordered, tightening his grip on her, "We're almost to your room."

"I can—"

"Let me carry you. You will fall over if you walk now."

Della relented and went limp. Eliwood finally made it to her door, then walked inside the nearly pitch-black room and set her on the bed.

"Thanks," she mumbled, trying and failing to lift her head.

Eliwood chuckled. "No more long excursions to Etruria for _you_, young lady." He paused a minute, then whispered, "…I am very glad you're back."

"Yeah." She opened her eyes a bit more through the inky darkness. "I…I missed you."

"I missed you too. I'll see you in the morning."

There was no answer. She was already asleep again. Eliwood carefully left the room, shutting the door behind him before he went back to the ball.

* * *

"Is something the matter, Heath?"

The Wyvern rider didn't answer for a moment. When he finally spoke, his lips twitched into an unsure smile, as if he didn't know whether to laugh or bury himself in solemnity. "…Your brother is glaring at me."

Priscilla laughed aloud, her high tinkling laughter that reminded Heath of a wind chime. "He glares at everybody!"

"Perhaps," Heath admitted, "But when he looks at me so, I can't help but feel…as if I am doing something wrong."

Priscilla was suddenly serious. Her deep eyes held all the mysteries of the sea and the sky, the knowledge of everything, secrets kept for thousands of years. "Please look at me," she demanded softly.

Heath was looking.

"You are doing no wrong," she told him, her voice lilting kindly. "None at all. It is not a crime to be in love, and it merits no shame. Besides…" Her voice lowered to a whisper, but she kept on. "You made a promise to me…"

"Priscilla—"

"Don't argue, please," she begged. "You made the promise. You vowed you wouldn't leave me and you sealed it with your lips."

"I couldn't break a promise…but Priscilla, this is all such a terrible idea—"

"I do not care about your past. I only care about you."

She was staring into his eyes again. Heath suddenly felt the urge to kiss her as he had a couple of hours before, to give her his promise of love anew. Yet inside he still felt so unworthy of her…

He was a renegade. Surely he would only attract trouble for her. And she had always been so kind to him…she had accepted him, even knowing his turn-coat past…she healed him with her faith and her laughter as much as she did with her staff…she didn't deserve the problems he was bound to bring her.

Priscilla stared at Heath for a long moment. His eyes were always so clouded, and it was so hard to tell what was on his mind. Still, she had known him long enough to know one thing—when Heath was pensive, it wasn't good.

"Heath," she murmured.

He met her eyes and smiled at her—no, smiled _for _her. She liked his smile…it didn't show too often, a real smile instead of a defensive smirk, but when it did show he was even more handsome than she already thought him. Unable to resist, she stood on her tiptoes and kissed his cheek.

"You have a future," she told him, knowing that was what he wanted to hear.

His smile widened. "You read my mind."

_I pray she's right…

* * *

_

"Tired?" Hector asked, more a challenge than anything else.

"No." Farina was up for whatever Hector had planned. "Are _you?_"

"Not a chance."

Eliwood watched with a bit of amusement as Hector and Farina whirled about the dance floor. They had been dancing a rather fast waltz for quite some time, and though both were flushed, it was obvious that neither was going to admit to the other that they wanted to stop.

But perhaps they really _didn't _want to stop. There was something about how tightly Farina was clutching Hector's hand, about how Hector's hand was on her waist instead of properly at her shoulder blade, about how their eyes were locked in such a fashion that Eliwood couldn't tell if they were glaring or flirting. The redhead chuckled and chose the latter.

"What are you laughing at?" Hector asked irately as he and Farina twirled by.

"Nothing, nothing," Eliwood answered with an innocent grin. "You two have fun."

"Go to sleep," Hector ordered. "No one wants you here just spying on what other people are doing."

"_Fine _then." Eliwood lifted his chin. "See if I let _you _stay the night in _my _castle, Marquess Ostia."

"See if you can make me go home, _Marquess Pherae_," Hector teased.

Eliwood flicked his eyes in Farina's direction again, smirked impishly at Hector, and left the ballroom with a swirl of his crimson cape.

"That's not a very nice way to talk to your best friend," Farina accused.

Hector fixed his eyes on hers again as they continued to dance. "I'm the ruler of the head of the Lycian League. I'll talk however I feel like talking."

"So being powerful means you can act however you want to?" That very, very small part of Farina that sometimes sounded like Fiora was offended by what Hector had said. As much as Farina hated to admit it, Fiora had been a good role model for her.

"Yeah, pretty much. Not that _you _would know. You're just a cheap horse rider."

"It's a Pegasus!" Farina exclaimed hotly. "Not a horse!"

Hector shrugged. "It's a horse with wings."

"Which is called a _Pegasus!" _

"Why would it matter to me?"

"Why _wouldn't _it matter!" Farina was always defensive about her steed.

The dance ended, and Hector dipped Farina backwards. She tensed up to find herself a short distance from the floor…despite the fact that she did feel _sort of_ safe with Hector's strong arms supporting her. Sort of.

"Do you scare girls like this often?" she asked, a tad angrily. Hector just raised an eyebrow.

"This _is _me we're talking about," he retorted. For just a second, his face was very close to hers. Farina's heart thudded into her throat as he pulled her back up so she was standing upright again. He had backed up a bit by that point, leaving Farina to wonder and catch her breath.

Why would a powerful lord want to dance so long with her? Why would she want to dance so long with such a rude oaf? And _why _was it that when he was so close to her, she was suddenly breathless…?

* * *

Sain was flitting everywhere throughout the ballroom, from girl to girl to girl. True, he hadn't gotten many to dance with him—yet—but he was having a great time just seeing them all dressed up. Their skirts bloomed out, reminding Sain's poetic and overdramatic mind of giant flowers. Pink flower, green flower, blue flower…crimson shield?

Kent walked back into the ballroom and Sain ran over to him.

"Partner!" Sain exclaimed, "I thought you had gone up to bed already!"

"I couldn't sleep." Kent ran a hand wearily through his tousled red hair. "So much to think about." He looked up at Sain quizzically. "Do you, by any chance, know how to weave?"

"No," Sain scoffed, "_Women _weave!"

Kent chuckled. "Well, I'm going to have to do it, too…"

Sain just stared at his friend for a moment in amusement, decided not to ask, then looked back at all the couples in the ballroom. He heaved a great sigh. "Somehow I get the feeling none of this is ready to end."

"What? The ball?"

Sain jerked his head towards Heath and Priscilla. "You know what I'm talking about. All this things that are…happening. It's not going to end, is it."

"Of course it isn't." Kent smiled. "It's still ongoing. Perhaps it always will be."

"It will," Sain decided with a wide smile. "It will."

* * *

_A/N: Alright, that'd be the rather lengthy Chapter One. I hope I can keep the tone of this story relatively the same as the last one…please review if you can, y'all know that I need feedback on my cheesier stories to make sure I'm not butchering the wonderful genre that is Romance._


	2. Hopeless

_A/N: Yay, a relatively fast update! Jeez, I sure have missed writing a story with an actual plot…even if it is one I make up as I go. But that's a secret…Shhh, don't tell anyone:-P Already Erk's making it very angsty, and he's giving me no choice but to bring in…who else? Sain and Della! Of course, Serra and perhaps even Pent may be able to provide comic relief later on…_

_**Chapter Two—Hopeless**_

"Erky?"

"Go away," Erk mumbled, burying himself deeper under the covers.

"…Erky?" the squeaky voice came again.

"Go away." Erk tried to repeat himself more forcefully, but his voice wasn't more than a miserable moan.

"Erky, why are you so grumpy?"

"I'm not." Erk rolled over onto his stomach and clamped his pillow over his head.

Serra walked into the room, each footfall making Erk's head pound. "You don't have to be so grumpy, you know. It's not even all that early, so you shouldn't be tired or anything—"

"I'm not tired!" Erk yelled from under the pillow, sounding mumbly and incoherent to even his own ears.

"What?"

Erk took the pillow away. "I'm _not _tired!"

Serra plopped herself on the edge of his bed, making him curl into a little ball to get away from her. The sunlight streaming through the window stung his eyes. "Then what's the matter, Erky?"

_What's the matter? _Erk squeezed his eyes shut, trying to free his heart from the claws of envy imbedding themselves inside it. _Nothing's the matter, Serra…I'm being destroyed from the inside out because the only girl I've ever loved has fallen for somebody else and now I don't stand a chance. I couldn't sleep, I can't eat. I'll probably die. So you see, it's really nothing at all._

"I'm _waiting_," Serra said impatiently, swinging her legs, her pink pigtails bouncing as she bobbed her head.

There was no way Erk was telling her.

"Go…away!" he wailed before burying his face back into the pillow.

He heard her sigh huffily. "FINE," she said with a tinge of resentment, "See if I care if you never get out of bed! I don't care at all! Watch me! Watch me not care!"

The bed creaked—Serra jumped to her feet and flounced out the door. Erk just rolled over, grateful for the silence her absence provided, and stared at the sunlight on the ceiling. It wasn't fair. The sun shouldn't be shining…Erk shouldn't have to look at something so bright and pure, something like Priscilla's smile…

"ARRRG!"

Erk dove back into the pillow again. He had hardly slept the night before, yet couldn't find the will to try and fall asleep again…he was much too busy thinking about how happy she looked in Heath's arms. He hadn't eaten in hours, but his stomach pinched and he didn't think he'd be able to swallow even a mouthful. His heart felt like something was squeezing it, like a _physical _ache, and he wanted to cry but was fairly sure he had used up all his tears deep in the night when no one could hear him. Even then he had only shed a few…Erk was never one for dwelling on social things.

Then how could this _possess_ him so?

Over and over again before Serra had barged in he had told himself: "You don't stand a chance, you never did, you'll find someone else, she's happy now, get over it." It had become his personal mantra over the course of five minutes, and for all his sleepless hours he had repeated it. It was like memorizing—and Erk was good at memorizing.

SO WHY COULDN'T HIS MIND TAKE THE HINT?

He gave a shuddering sigh. He knew he wouldn't have the courage to get out and face the day. He rolled over, away from the sun, and vowed that he wouldn't leave the bed until he had gotten over this trivial, troublesome matter that people called "love".

* * *

Eliwood woke up fairly early. His body just seemed to do that…he was never one to sleep in late. Especially not after the war.

It was one thing to train yourself to wake up early every day so you could pack up camp and get ready to battle…it was another to deal with all the nightmares those battles brought. Blood, blood, blood, everywhere…even in dreams he could smell it and taste it and would wake up in a cold sweat, convinced that right next to him he would see his father or mother or Ninian or a friend…lifeless. Luckily the nightmares had begun to plague him less and less…but Eliwood was still in the habit of waking early to avoid them.

He dressed quickly and went down to the kitchens, still faintly hearing music coming from the ballroom. He laughed to himself as he wondered who had been dancing all night long…and who had caught a few hours of sleep just to come right back down.

In the dining hall several long tables were set up in rows, and servants were hurrying all over the place carrying steaming trays of sweet food. Eliwood sat down and a platter with his breakfast was immediately dropped down in front of him.

"T-thank you!" he called, but the servant had already gone to fetch another plate for someone else. Eliwood smiled again…so many people would be hungry soon. The dining hall was pretty empty now, but he was sure if he gave it a few more minutes…

He shrugged and started eating.

"Hey, loverboy," Hector teased as he walked into the hall a little while later. Eliwood looked up from his breakfast, surprised.

"What do you mean, Hector?"

"As if you don't know!" Lyn laughed, entering behind the lord of Ostia. Hector plunked himself down at the table, and Lyn sat next to Eliwood and stared at him with an impish pointedness. "Don't think we didn't see who _you _were dancing with last night."

Eliwood gave a start. "W-what? No, that's…she did not have a partner—"

"Oh, please." Hector rolled his eyes. "Della could have danced with any man in that room, and you know it. And _you _could have danced with any woman! So why did you pick _each other?"_

"I hadn't seen her all summer," said Eliwood calmly, going back to eating.

"What about _me_?" Lyn demanded. "You didn't dance when _I _asked you to."

"Your partner was Kent."

"Della's partners were Sain and Canas and Pent and Erk and Lucius!" Lyn exclaimed. "She even danced with _Marcus!"_

"Until Eliwood came around," Hector noted with a grin. "It seems she only danced with you once you were ready to."

"Please," said Eliwood, not looking up at them, "You know how empathic she is. She just couldn't stand to see me unhappy."

"And that doesn't sounds like she cares for you _at all._" Hector rolled his eyes.

Eliwood glanced up then. "Enough about me," he said politely, "What of you and Miss _Farina _last night?"

"What of it?" Hector asked peevishly.

Lyn drummed her fingers on the table and innocently began to sing, "Hector's a-courting, Hector's a-courting…"

"I am not!" Hector stood up suddenly, bracing himself on the table. "I danced with a wallflower, it's nothing to talk about!"

"One dance should have sufficed, Hector." The smirk on Eliwood's face betrayed the fact that he was enjoying having the tables turned. "Why did you dance with her more than once?"

"I was trying to be polite," Hector retorted nonchalantly. Lyn snorted, trying very hard not to laugh, and Hector rounded on her with an indignant "Hey!"

"But back to Eliwood," said Lyn, ignoring Hector and looking instead at her redheaded friend. "Honestly…have you finally moved on?"

_From Ninian?_

The unasked part of the question reverberated through the air. Eliwood felt strangely empty, strangely…guilty. He did not meet Lyn's eyes.

"I think we've had enough of this discussion," he said quietly.

"But—" Hector started to protest, though he was cut off when Eliwood abruptly stood.

"Help yourselves to breakfast," he said quickly and coolly. Without another word he picked his plate off of the table—rather than let a servant do it for him—and briskly walked off in the direction of the kitchens.

"Come on, just say you fancy your tactician!" Hector called after him.

"I will say no such thing!"

With that, Eliwood disappeared through the doorway. Hector and Lyn just looked at each other with identical grins and mouthed the word "denial" across the table.

"I say it's high time he got himself another woman, anyway," Hector declared.

A servant put a mug of something steaming in front of Lyn. She lifted it to her lips, smiling wickedly at Hector over the rim. "And _I _say it's high time you got a woman at all!"

"I've courted before!" Hector protested indignantly. "What about when I courted you?"

"I most certainly do not count." The drink was good. Lyn took another sip.

"I like how you can sit there so casually as you remember what a huge lie you told me," said Hector, rolling his eyes.

"And I know you liked how I trekked all the way to Ostia _just _to come clean and apologize."

Hector had to smile at that. It seemed like an age ago, even though it had only been a couple of weeks…Lyn had pretended to love Hector so she wouldn't hurt Kent, but eventually the love between the knight and his lady could not be contained any longer. They carried on their secret romance, leaving Hector prey to doubts and suspicions and—the day Lyn's Sacaean hatred for deceit forced her to come to tell him the truth—heartbreak. Of course, he had forgiven her almost instantly. She was his friend, as angry as she made him, and Hector never abandoned a friend.

"Hey…" Lyn ventured slowly, quietly, "You…you're not still angry with me about that whole thing, are you?"

"Mm…nah." Hector leaned back in his chair and put his hands behind his head. "I liked you a lot, sure…maybe even loved you. You're fierce and smart and gorgeous—as much as I really hate to admit it—but…I realized Kent probably would have loved you even if you weren't all those things. It was like he loved your very _essence, _not just who you are."

"Hector," she whispered in surprise, "That's…such a beautiful thing to say…"

"It's rubbish," he snorted. "I read it in a poetry book once. I just never grasped it's meaning until you and Kent came out and said what you two were up to. So now I get it."

"Ha!" Lyn pointed at him and laughed. "You read _poetry_?"

"I had to, it was for a literature class! Uther was making me do it!"

"Poetry, poetry!" she chanted in a sing-song voice.

"Don't make me go get Armads," he threatened.

"Go recite some poetry for _Farina!" _

"Alright, that's it!" Hector stood up and started to storm away.

"Wait, wait…" Lyn leaped up and raced after him, laughing as her hand found his cape. "Hold on, Hector, we definitely need to talk about this."

"About _what?_" Hector demanded.

"About Farina!" The Sacaean grinned up at her friend. "Come on, Hector, I know you like her…admit to it."

"I can't like her!" he protested, "I absolutely _hate _her!"

"You danced an awful lot for someone who hates her." Lyn let go of his cape but folded her arms over her chest and looked up at him defiantly. Somehow that kept him still as easily as a physical force would.

"So…she's a good dancer," the lord admitted grudgingly. "And she's kind of…well…"

"Kind of what?" Lyn prompted.

"No, I'm not saying it."

Hector turned but Lyn snatched his cape again. "_Tell _me…"

Hector wrestled with himself a moment before flinging his arms up and yelling, "Fine, I think she's kind of pretty, alright? Since when has that been a crime!"

"My lord!" cried a new voice in shock, "That has _never _been a crime!"

Lyn rolled her eyes as Sain approached them, stretching his arms in the morning sunlight coming through the windows.

"Ha." Hector turned and glared at Lyn. "See? See? It's not anything to interrogate me about!"

"You mean you're going to listen to _Sain_?" Lyn asked, raising an eyebrow.

"My lovely lady Lyndis, why would you tell Lord Hector that thinking women are beautiful is a crime?" Sain inquired. His eyes were so comically wide with surprise that Lyn almost laughed. "Surely it isn't, or you would have had my head by now!"

"I've threatened it many times," Lyn teased.

"Very true, milady," Sain agreed with a grin. Then he gestured at Hector. "But, Lady Lyn, you can't go disputing Lord Hector when he says a damsel is pretty. I happen to know for a _fact _that this young lady of which he speaks is one of the most gorgeous in the world! Or at least out of all the girls _I've_ ever seen. Her eyes sparkle and her eyes shine and her voice is sweeter than a lute, and…" He broke off and whispered to Hector, "Erm, which woman am I talking about exactly, milord?"

"Sain!" Lyn cried angrily.

Hector threw up his hands again. "I've had enough of this!"

He stomped away, and Lyn tried to follow him, but a servant hurried in front of her and cut her off. She bounced on the balls of her feet, trying to peer over the servant's head, but all she could see were the doors to the hall swinging shut. Hector was gone. Lyn pouted and angrily folded her arms.

_He says he hates her…but spends so much time with her…because he thinks she's pretty?_ Her scowl darkened, and she shook her head angrily. _Hector, that's not what love is about!

* * *

_

Erk's stomach growled.

_No! _he thought despairingly. _Treacherous body! If I had my way, I would silence you and just let myself starve in peace..._

"Erk?" someone called softly, knocking on the door.

"For the last time, _go away!_" Erk yelled, twisting deeper into the blankets. The door opened a crack.

"…Erk, dear?"

The young sage's eyes snapped open. Serra never called him "dear"…only one woman had ever done that.

"Lady Louise!" he gasped, sitting bolt-upright.

"Yes, it's me." She stood in the doorway, calm and quiet as always. "May I come in?"

"Y-yes, of course…oh…L-lady Louise, I'm so sorry for shouting at—"

"Hush." Her eyes were gentle, like a mother's. She would be a mother soon, of course--he could see the gently swell of her belly beneath her gown—but even before that she had tried very hard to be like a mother to Erk. She had cared for him when he was sick, and made him tea when he was up late studying, and made it her priority to make him smile…she had wanted very much for Erk to love her. And of course he _did _love her, in his own way…yet somehow, something inside of him could not call her a mother. She was just…Lady Louise. His guardian and conciliator, who was primly crossing the room to his bed so she could be there for him once more.

"Erk," she said, "Are you ill?"

_No…_he started to say, but he closed his mouth before he could. He was sick of lying to himself. He felt shaky and weak, his eyes drooped wearily, and he could feel his heart being seared away. He wanted to tell her that, but…he didn't know how to put it into words.

"Lady Louise…" he croaked.

She sat down by the edge of his bed, and when he didn't shy away she began stroking his purple hair. He flinched a bit at that, but her touch was gentle and eventually he relaxed.

"Come now," she said melodiously, "Tell me what the matter is."

"I-I can't get up." Erk shut his eyes at the new wave of pain drowning him inside. "I have no reason to…I have nothing left to get up for…no hope…"

"What?" Her voice was incredulous. "Of course there's hope. Look at that sun shining."

Erk didn't say anything. He didn't want to argue with the kind woman trying to make him feel better.

"Look, Erk…I know you're an amazing student, but…" Her voice softened. "Sometimes there are things you don't understand."

He opened his eyes and looked at her then, surprised. What? He was Erk, apprentice to Lord Pent, the Sage that battled dragons and Nergal, the boy that struck fear into the hearts of those stupid bandits…he spent all his time reading and studying and learning. What out there could he not understand, besides why Priscilla preferred Heath?

"Life has ups and downs, you know," Louise continued. "But no matter what…no matter how low your life goes…it will _always _come back up. So there's hope. You should never stop hoping, and never stop fighting." She smiled and ruffled his hair. "Besides, you're a very intelligent and handsome young man. You'll be able to win over that girl you're so upset about."

_I never told her about a girl! _Erk realized.

He sat straight up again as Louise got to her feet. "L-lady Louise, how did you know I--!"

"Just because my husband is oblivious to these things doesn't mean I am." Louise smiled at him again, impishly. "Come now, Erk…I trust you'll be going down to breakfast?"

That meant leaving the bed. Erk clutched at the blanket covering him and looked away.

"Erk…" Louise prodded gently, "You'll never win a battle you do not fight."

She was right. As always. Erk sighed, then managed to shoot her a weak smile.

"Alright…I'm coming."

* * *

_Oswin…Lucius…Canas's wife…there he is!_

"Heath!" Priscilla cried happily. The sun streaming through the windows glinted off her red hair as she darted down the corridor and into his arms. His embrace seemed automatic, as if he hadn't even thought about it, and the sturdiness it brought was countered by the surprise in his eyes. Priscilla giggled.

"I didn't see you comin', Pris." Heath quirked a smile at her, and she beamed back. "You sleep well?"

"Yes, fine, thank you." Suddenly concerned, she reached up a white finger to brush against his face. There were dark rings under his eyes. "Heath, are you…"

His smile widened. "I'm fine. Priscilla, you really do worry about other people too much. I just didn't get a lot of sleep, that's all."

"Why not?" She continued stroking his face. He didn't stop her.

"Ha, my room was too close to the ballroom. I didn't realize how many all-nighters we had in the army…the music just never stopped."

"And is there something wrong with that?" an incredulous voice asked. "Music can't be stopped! And I'll defenestrate anyone who tries to stop it!"

Heath and Priscilla abruptly stopped their embrace and turned to face Della. Sain stood behind her.

"Well, I wouldn't say anything about music," the green-knight added, "But if a man's heart is afire, you can't stop him from dancing all night, either!"

"Huzzah for disturbing the peace!" Della held her hand out to Sain for a high-five.

The green knight didn't know what a high-five was, so he kissed her hand instead. "Isn't that a bad thing?"

"Depends on what peace you're disturbing." Della grabbed Sain's wrist and began teaching him how to do a high-five. "See, if you're doing it with a flute—hmm, maybe even a saxophone—ooh, or Base 1 on a marching band drumline!—then it's ok no matter what peace you disturb…"

"Are you two causing trouble again?" Kent asked sternly, striding down the hallway towards him.

"Us two?" Della asked incredulously.

"Causing trouble?" Sain asked, in the same tone.

They looked at each other and grinned. "Of course not, dear Kent!"

The red knight sighed wearily. "I believe you both are having far too much of an influence on each other…"

"Is that bad?" Della asked. "We're a Dynamic Duo!" Her eyes suddenly widened. "OHMIGOSH! We can be SUPER HEROES! Sain, you are officially Super Sain!"

"…Super heroes?" Sain asked, following Della who was already zooming down the hall.

"They are going to get themselves killed one day," Kent muttered.

"Not with you around," Heath murmured into Priscilla's ear, his arms sliding around her waist again. "You never let anyone get hurt."

She leaned her head against his chest and smiled at the praise.

Kent decided to leave them alone for a moment and continued his walk down the corridor. On the way, he passed a familiar brooding sage. "Ah, good morning, Erk."

Kent saw Erk look at him—no, look _behind _him. Kent turned his head in time to see Heath give Priscilla a gentle kiss. The red knight turned back to Erk and saw the magic-user's face grow stony, sullen, inanimate.

"No," Erk said in response to Kent's greeting. "It isn't a good morning at all."

Pain filled the sage's eyes as he turned and practically fled back down the hallway.

* * *

_A/N: I believe it's safe to say that I can relate to Erk…wow, I usually don't draw on life experience to write stuff, so this is a bit interesting to me. And I've finally gotten Heath's personality down, I think…I reread his support conversations with Priscilla and realized he used more casual language than I thought…SO hopefully he's better in this chapter. (And no, for the record, I don't think "mumbly" is a word, but I'm using it anyway. So THERE, Microsoft Word! Also, defenestrate has the best definition EVER…go look it up!) ANYWAY…well, I suppose that's all for now. Please review and all that, and thank you so much for even just taking the time to read this._


	3. Anger

_A/N: Dang…I'm certainly getting angsty with the chapters, here! Perhaps this is the aftereffects of too much stress and not enough sleep. I'm very sorry if things feel a bit…rushed, or something…emotions get pretty strong pretty fast in this chapter. SO, I'm apologizing in advance for possible lame-ness…this is what delirium does to me:-P_

_**Chapter Three—Anger**_

"Day two," Hector chuckled as he walked into the ballroom.

"Forty-eight hours remain," Della said ominously.

Hector turned around and stared at her. "What?"

"Whoops, wrong game!" She spun around and sprinted away, yelling something about a Majora and a Mask.

Hector simply rolled his eyes before scanning the room for people he knew. Although there were still quite a few people dancing, Hector recognized a few of them as friends instead of lovers. Serra and Lucius, Isadora and Lowen, Heath and Vaida—HA! Vaida could dance? Vaida was a _woman?_

Hector laughed to himself, and tried to still his roving eye. What exactly was he looking for? What could he possibly care about? Not finding Farina in the room, Hector gave a small sigh of…disappointment?

_So I was looking for FARINA?!_

Hector tried to banish the thought from his mind, suddenly angry with himself. What did he want Farina for?

"What do I want a stupid oaf for?" an angry voice exclaimed.

That voice was too familiar. Hector's gaze followed it until he found a familiar Pegasus rider, arguing with her sisters, in a corner of the room he must have overlooked. He strode towards the three with a smirk forming on his lips.

"He's just…stupid!" Farina was saying heatedly. "And an oaf! A stupid oaf! That's all you could say to describe him!"

"Farina!" Florina exclaimed in timid shock, "T-that's no way to t-talk about—"

"Florina's right." Fiora looked at Farina, her eyes fiery. "You actions may prove you a common mercenary, but within you know very well that you are an Ilian _knight!_ You can't neglect such duties!"

"Says you, Mr. Kent," Farina retorted scathingly. Fiora looked away, angry and hurt.

"S-sister," pleaded Florina, "Please…try to be nice. Fiora just wants what's best for you, and L-lord—"

"Oh, if you want one of us to be with him so much, _you _go after him!" Farina snapped.

"N-no!" Florina protested, her already pale face whitening further. Fiora turned and looked at Farina with pure indignation in her eyes.

"Farina, you may not unburden your problems on Florina. Or on me! We are sisters, not mere items for you to take out your anger on! You have some nerve to be so cruel!"

Farina rolled her eyes. "Just because I mentioned Kent?"

"Stop it!"

"Kent Kent Kent! Kent and Lyn!"

"STOP IT!"

"F-farina, p-please—"

"Hector!" Farina exclaimed to her little sister. Florina cringed, and when she looked up and saw Hector standing behind Farina, she screamed and bolted.

"Florina!" Fiora called after her. She shot Farina a furious glare before chasing down her youngest sibling.

Farina slowly turned around to find Hector standing there.

"You scared off my sister," she growled in a low, lethal voice.

Hector raised an eyebrow. "I don't think I did any more than you did."

"It's not polite to eavesdrop."

"It's not polite to dangle Kent in front of Fiora."

"It's not polite to barge into other people's business!" Farina raised her voice, and Hector quickly did the same.

"Yeah? Well it's not polite to keep screaming indoors!" Lowering his voice, he jerked his chin towards the doors. "Let's go outside."

"I'm not going anywhere with you!" Farina folded her arms and turned away. "You just leave me alone, Lord Hector!"

"I _said_," Hector repeated through gritted teeth, "Let's…go…outside."

"YOU go outside!"

"IF WE'RE GOING TO ARGUE WE MIGHT AS WELL DO IT WHERE WE WON'T DISTURB EVERYBODY!" Hector roared, causing everyone on his half of the ballroom to stop what they were doing and stare at him. He met their gazes with unfazed brashness.

Farina clenched her jaw, nearly a mirror image of how Hector had his set before, and grabbed his hand to yank him out of the ballroom. "Hurry it up, you're making a scene."

"Oh, so now you _don't _want to be in the center of attention?" Hector couldn't resist taking a stab at her pride: "I'd have thought you'd like to make a scene. Put on a play, earn some more of your precious gold…"

"BE QUIET!" Farina screeched, red with anger. She hurried her pace out the front doors of Castle Pherae and into its spacious courtyard, with Hector on her heels.

"Where did you get such nerve, woman?" the Lord demanded. "You have no right to speak to me that way! Or to your sisters, for that matter."

Farina stopped in her tracks and whirled around to face him. "How I speak to them is none of your concern."

"I think you may be wrong."

Farina looked up into Hector's face. How did she not notice until now that he positively _towered _over her? She just barely reached his shoulder. She wondered suddenly how it would feel to be embraced by such a man, enveloped in strong arms, her cheek against his broad chest…no! She gave herself a mental slap as she glared up at her employer.

He leaned down menacingly. "In case you'd forgotten, Florina happens to be my friend and under my care. I made sure she wasn't hurt in the war, and don't you forget it! As for the other one…"

"Fiora," Farina snapped.

"Yeah, yeah, her. She was friends with Eliwood, and everyone knows that a friend of his is a friend of mine!"

"Well what am I to you?" Farina challenged. "Am I a little porcelain doll, or a knightly comrade, like them? Or am I just your hot-tempered little sellsword!"

"What does that have to do with anything?" Hector held his arms open wide in exasperation.

"Nothing!" Farina turned away, _her_ arms once more defiantly folded.

"Why were you arguing with your sisters?"

"I don't care if they're your friends—our business is our own, thank you!"

"You made them run away! What could you possibly have said?"

Farina whirled back then, her eyes aflame. "It was what they said to _me! _They started it!"

"Fine, what could _they _possibly have said?" Hector amended, rolling his eyes. _Elimine…I don't know why, but…I really want to know!_ "It couldn't have been as bad as all that—"

"What do _you_ know?"

Hector's famous temper disappeared. He looked at the ground, and when he spoke his voice was quiet and somber. "All I know…is that if I had Uther back…I wouldn't want to argue with him anymore."

Farina bit her lip, her eyes finding the ground as well. She had heard about Lord Uther's death…it was during the war, at a time when Hector didn't need anything else on his plate. But somehow the lord had stayed strong…

"They were talking about my future," Farina found herself admitting softly. She remembered the annoying look of fear on Florina's face, the infuriating patronization on Fiora's. How did they dare say they knew what was best for her? _She _was the one out making all the money!

"So what about your future." Hector's voice wasn't soft, or gentle, or even really that kind…but it implied that he was listening. _Why does Hector care enough to listen…?_

"Forget it!" Farina snapped. "And if you're such good friends with my sisters, go tell them to forget it too! I can make my OWN future, I don't want them discussing it for me! I don't want to be like them--to blindly follow some lady around, or to pledge my soul to a thankless duty…I just want support myself, and them too! I want my gold! As long as I have that, I don't need a home or a husband—"

"Husband?" Hector asked in sudden confusion.

"No!" Farina instantly denied, going pink. "It's just these stupid rumors my sisters are cooking up. I'm not looking to…I don't…I don't need a man to support me, curse it all! I can do that all by myself!"

"Farina, what's the matter," Hector said with a sigh. It was more of a demand than it was a question. "You're not usually like this. You're being so defensive, it it's downright annoying—"

"So you think I'm just a nuisance, too?" Farina rounded on him, her eyes glittering. "They told me I'd end up as nothing if I kept on living how I am—just a mercenary, always traveling around chasing money. This is my life, and it's worked well enough before, but they've told me that mercenaries get 'bad reputations'. That we're worthless and I should find something more 'stable'. But this is all I've known—I can't give it up! They don't have the right…they can't…"

Her breath came in hitches and she clenched her fists at her sides, desperate to press back the hot tears stinging the corners of her eyes. "I'm not worthless…I know I'm not…I can choose my path and fend for myself, and if that's all I have to worry about then maybe something I do will come out _right…"_

"Farina?" Hector ventured.

She just shook her head angrily and sprinted away, trying to escape. She wanted no pity from that rude little lordling! He should just mind his own business!

Hector watched her flee, his eyes narrowed in confusion. Man, those three Pegasus sisters…what a bunch.

* * *

Eliwood sighed as he walked down the corridors. _Ah, what a long day. It's been hours and the ball is STILL going…always ongoing…_

He passed by his tactician's room. A few feet away from her door he heard a frantic scratching. Quizzically, he peeked inside.

Della sat at her desk with a quill in her hand, writing down something so fast that the tip of the feather trembled like a tree in a monsoon. Curious as to what she was doing _this _time, Eliwood entered the room. She looked up and grinned when she heard his footsteps.

"Hey!"

"Hello. Are you really working on something today?" Eliwood studied her face—her smile did nothing to hide the dark rings under her eyes. "You look tired."

"Oh, I'm always tired. But this is a happy tired. Besides, tired means delirious which means energy! Wheeee!" Della spun around in the chair and went back to writing and doodling on her paper.

"You should have slept in," Eliwood murmured, coming to stand behind her chair. "You were up late last night, you don't need to be doing whatever this is."

"Ha!" snorted the tactician. "I am SO used to staying up late. High school is run by a bunch of Nazis."

Eliwood peered over her shoulder at the parchment she was writing on. It was covered with lines and dancing dots and strange symbols. "…What _are_ you doing, anyway?"

"I'm trying to write down Sing Sing Sing for the musicians," she informed him. "I really want to do a swing dance to some actual jazz music."

"…Jazz," Eliwood repeated.

"You betcha!" She held up her paper and surveyed the music. "This is _only _the best jazz song ever."

The lord tried to look at it, but the paper blurred before his eyes. It was suddenly hard to breathe, and lights sparkled at the edges of his vision…he swayed on his feet, catching himself on the back of Della's chair before he could stumble.

"Woah, are you okay?" she asked, wide-eyed.

"Yes, yes…fine…" Eliwood murmured as he put a hand to his head. The strange fit was fading fast. "Just got a little dizzy…"

"Low blood pressure, perhaps? Hmm." Della jumped to her feet and stood for a moment, thinking, before jubilantly crying "Latkes!" and grabbing Eliwood's hand to whisk him off to the kitchens. "Okay I know neither of us are Jewish but I'm certain that around this time of year there's nothing better for making your blood pressure high than a fried potato pancake so woohoo for Chanukah or Hanukah or however those sillies spell it—"

She continued to babble on and on as she led Eliwood along, leaving the marquess to wonder why his head had felt so foggy…

* * *

Just a few rooms away, a cleric paced around the ornamental rug in her room. Her hands were clasped behind her back and she glared at the ground, deep in thought, her pink pigtails bouncing with every step.

"I wonder why Erk was so sad," Serra mused to herself. "He's always broody, but never like this…"

Struck with a sudden thought, her hands flew to her cheeks. "Oh no! What if he's jealous of my beauty! That must mean that he wishes _he _were so good-looking, and that's why he's so mean to me! But…" The pacing resumed. "Why would he want to look as lovely as I do? So much lovely loveliness would surely overpower the world. There must be someone he wants to impress…probably me!"

She adjusted her long purple gloves haughtily. "Of course. That's it. He distances himself from me because he doesn't think he's worthy of me. Perhaps that's why he always talks to _her_…maybe he thinks he has a chance against the less beautiful _Priscilla_…"

Serra winced and stopped pacing. WHY did something always get tweaked inside of her at the sound of the other healer's name?

Maybe it was because Erk always _did _talk to Priscilla. Because he would sometimes slip away from her to go to the troubadour, insisting that he was _her _escort, even though his soul was clearly the property of Serra. Because whenever he was around Priscilla he just looked _happier_, with an actual smile on his usually grim face.

Well what was so special about her? How could _she _make him smile? Suddenly irritated, Serra kicked at a pillow on the floor. Curse that little goody-two-shoes Priscilla. She was always trying to be kind, but secretly Serra knew that Priscilla wanted nothing more than to one-up her! To become the best cleric and steal the hearts of Hector and Matthew and _Erk_! Serra was sure of it!

"What gives her such _nerve_!" the cleric muttered, kicking the pillow again. It skittered across the room and slumped sadly against the wall. "She thinks she's so pretty, doesn't she! She thinks she's _soooo _nice. She thinks she can take my Erky away from me! But she CAN'T!" She aimed another kick at the poor drubbed pillow. "I know he likes me, he HAS to like me! He has to!"

And so Serra stood, abusing the pillow, subconsciously guessing the healer Erk _really _had feelings for. Her anger and frustration built up inside her. _How can he like HER? I don't understand! It's simply ridiculous! And SHE just rides around with her head up in the clouds! "Look at me, look at me, I have a horse, I'm so SPECIAL"!_

"Hello?" a soft, feminine voice asked from the doorway. One too familiar for Serra to take right then.

"You!" the cleric cried, whirling around to face Priscilla, who was standing in the doorway.

"Hello, Serra. Is something the matt—"

"Go away!" the pink-haired yelled, picking up the pillow and throwing it at the door.

"B-but Serra…" Priscilla ducked and the pillow flew over her head. "If you would just tell me what's wrong—"

"NO! I won't tell you! I won't even talk to you! Take your ugly face and go away!"

"Serra…" Priscilla slipped into the room and closed the door behind her.

"NO!" Serra shrieked again. "Go away! I can't stand to see you!"

"What did I do that was so wrong?" Timidly Priscilla crossed the room to stand in front of Serra, clutching her staff nervously.

"You…you took…" Serra's hands balled into fists at her sides, and her eyes stung with sudden tears. "No, nevermind! I don't care—I'm not jealous of you! Not at all!" She whirled around and folded her arms defiantly.

"Serra?" Priscilla whispered. "I didn't take anything from you."

"YES YOU DID!" Serra spun around again, her eyes flaming. "You took Erk! You took him away from me! He'd follow you to the end of Elibe, but all he wants is to get rid of me! He loves you…and that's why I _hate _you!"

"No!" Priscilla exclaimed, aghast. "I would never…I didn't take Erk! He and I are just friends, I—"

"Nuh-uh!" Serra protested, dashing her tears away with her arm. "You aren't! He likes you too much, you awful vixen!"

"So…you're angry with me because you think I…stole the heart of the boy you like?"

"I-I never said I liked him!" Serra felt herself flush, felt more angry tears burn her eyes. "I don't like him! I hate him! I hate him almost as much as I hate you!"

"But I…I think you love him."

"NO!"

Serra didn't know what she was doing until she had already done it: she slapped Priscilla hard across the face and sent the healer reeling back. Priscilla put her arms up to shield herself but never struck back as Serra began smacking her head again and again.

"I hate you! You stole him! He'll never like me, and it's your fault! I _hate _you! And I hate him too! I…I…"

The blows stopped. Priscilla half-winced and half-glanced up at Serra. The cleric had frozen, tears streaming down her face, her hand raised but not coming down onto Priscilla for another strike. "I…" Serra choked out as her arm dropped to her side, "I…Saint Elimine, I _do_ love him!"

She collapsed to her knees before Priscilla and began to sob. Priscilla put a hand to her stinging cheek and studied Serra. There was no way such a proud girl would let her rival in love see her cry…Priscilla supposed this was as close to an apology from Serra as she would get. And…it was enough.

Priscilla bent down to Serra and then, hesitantly, put her arms around her and began to whisper a prayer. Perhaps, she reasoned, if Saint Elimine was feeling generous, she would be able to heal more than just physical wounds.

* * *

_A/N: Ah, there we go. A nice, depressing ending to the chapter. Egad, it's Christmas and everything! Hehe, you never know…I'll probably be pumping up some happier stuff this holiday season, so if you want some of that it's forthcoming :-P. WELL then…I beseech thee, noble readers, to please leave a review providing it fills thee with great happiness and joy of spirit. _


	4. Understand

_A/N: Hum de dum dum…chapter four. Honestly, this story is beginning to seem stupider and stupider to me. (Sigh). But here's the newest chapter, for all who wanted it._

**_Chapter Four--Understand_**

Erk flipped another page over in the book he was reading, his chin sunk into his hand. Reading had always been good for him…his mind focused on the world too much sometimes. He worried. Everything he still had to accomplish, the staggering enormity of what he was faced with every day…it often made him nervous. He had to study constantly so he could prove himself worthy of Lord Pent's tutorage, he had to do so without worrying Lady Louise, until only a couple of months ago he had to fight in a desperate war against a turbaned madman, nearly every minute of his day was _still _spent fleeing from Serra, and the only girl he had ever loved had left him for a renegade wyvern rider. So much on his plate, and Erk was only fifteen…no, he was sixteen, now!

_Gah, I don't even remember my own age!_

Erk covered his ears as if that would quell the howling thoughts in his brain and tried to focus once more on the book. Good old book. Good old magic, good old learning. Whenever Erk had too much on his mind, he would turn to reading, and that always managed to calm him down. The sage leaned forward, intent on the words that spilled into such wonderful spells. He felt himself drawn into the instructions and graceful incantations, just as he was every time. He was becoming part of it again, sucked into the depths of the parchment where all was quiet and every solemn syllable contained untold mysteries, all of which Erk got to uncover all by himself, in his tranquil paradise of pages…

Someone knocked gently on the door, but even that small noise nearly startled Erk out of his chair. With an effort, he tore himself from his book and into reality—for the first time since starting to read he noticed that it was very hot inside the room, but his studies had distracted him from such worldly concerns. Perhaps that was why Lady Louise worried…Erk was a regular little Pent…

The knock sounded again, and Erk hurried to the door. He swung it open to find Priscilla standing out in the hallway, fiddling absentmindedly with the wing-shaped ornaments in her hair. He had always been a student at heart, and so couldn't stop himself from studying the healer…her fiery hair, her ornate green eyes, her long and bare legs…

"I hope I didn't disturb you, Erk?"

Her voice brought his eyes shooting back to her face, and he quickly regained his composure. "N-no…no, I was just catching up on a bit of studying."

"Oh. Well…do you mind if I have a talk with you?"

"Not at all!" Erk jumped back so fast it was if the ground beneath him was on fire, making way for Priscilla to enter the room. She smiled graciously as she did so, seating herself down on a chair in his room. Erk pulled up the chair from his desk and sat across from her, peering at her intently.

"Is there any particular reason you need to talk, Priscilla?"

The troubadour smiled faintly. Despite the fact that she had given Erk full permission to forget her title, back in those days when he was her escort during the war, the sage only took advantage of that privilege when they were alone. "Erk, there's been a bit of a…misunderstanding."

"Really?" the sage asked concernedly. "What about?"

Priscilla bit her lip, trying to decide how to phrase what she wanted to say next. It would have been so easy to just blurt out "Do you love me oh please say no because you shouldn't because Serra loves _you_," but saying such a thing would only end in disaster. Besides, it wouldn't be fair to Serra…she had never said that she wanted Erk to know how she felt.

"Well," Priscilla said finally, clasping her delicately gloved hands in her lap with a sigh, "Let's pretend that there is…someone in this castle who cares for you very much."

Erk was taken aback, but he was bright and caught on quickly, his mind whirring. He leaned forward in his chair as he asked, "Alright, let's pretend. What if, in this little game, I were to ask who this person might be?"

Priscilla smiled to see he was playing along. "Hmm…let's just say that this person is…a healer. She's very sweet--if a bit…_stubborn_--but she likes you quite a lot. I think she has always liked you, and during your time serving her you always stayed by her side…"

Erk's eyes widened, his mind froze, he couldn't feel the chair beneath him. His pulse seemed almost deafening to his ears as he stared at the healer before him, because for the first time in how long only Elimine knew…he felt a glimmer of _hope._ The flash of a feeling he thought had been destroyed. Ah, what an _impossible _emotion!

There, sitting right before him, was the sweetest person he had ever met--caring for soldiers and smiling for Sain. The one who possessed a stubborn streak so rare that Erk felt blessed just to know she had it--clinging to her brother, persuading Heath to come to her with even the most minor scratch. The one who requested he call her by her first name, and speak to her as a friend. The one Erk had never strayed from, since he felt eager to be by her side rather than dread the moments his duty chained him to her, as he had felt with Serra…

Priscilla cleared her throat nervously, fiddling with her gloves. "Erk, we'll keep pretending and say that this healer wants to know how you feel about her."

"Well," Erk said softly, "If I have any idea who this healer is…I…I am sure that I feel the same way. No, it's more than that…I am sure that any feelings she has for me could easily be dwarfed by those I have for her."

He gazed into Priscilla's eyes, aware of her lips spreading into a wide smile, and wondered just what was on her mind…

Which happened to be: _Oh, this is wonderful—I can't wait to tell Serra!

* * *

_

Farina was sprawled out on her bed, just staring moodily up at the ceiling, replaying her conversation with Hector in her head over and over again. She wondered why he had asked about her future, as if he actually _cared._ She wondered why she had reacted so angrily. Ah, it was probably because she simply hated anyone—especially brainless lords!—seeing her so weak.

_Perhaps my future does make me weak,_ she thought as she rolled onto her side, curling herself into a ball. _I don't know where I'm going to go or what I'm going to do. I'll never have any guarantee that I'll make enough to support Florina and Fiora and myself. And what's even worse—now that pig Lord Hector knows it!_

A knock on the door sent Farina jolting up into a sitting position.

"Price of admission is ten gold!" she announced loudly. The door creaked open slowly, so Farina stood up and stuck out her open hand to show that she wasn't kidding…until she saw it was Florina standing in the doorway.

"S-sister?"

Farina felt herself scowl. "Oh, it's you. I guess I can't charge _you_."

A small smile crept across Florina's face. "I-I just came to check up on you, Farina. I'm r-really sorry if Fiora and I m-made you angry…"

"Will you stop stuttering?" Farina asked irritably.

"S-s-sorry!" Florina squealed, before Farina grabbed her wrist and yanked her into the room. She sat Florina down on the bed before seating herself beside her and wrapping an arm around her sister's shoulders.

"Florina, you never stutter unless you're nervous. And you don't have to be nervous with me!"

"I'm sorry," Florina repeated, her hands up near her face as if she wished to cover it up. "I just…Fiora and I didn't mean to upset you. Where you go from here is your decision, we were just worried…and…Fiora's up fuming in her bedroom and now you're angry down here and…" A tear ran down the lavender-haired girl's face, and she quickly tried to wipe it away. "I'm sorry! It's just that…oh, I _hate _it when we fight!"

She began to weep into her hands, and Farina rolled her eyes as she pulled her sister into a hug. "Ah, Florina, don't do that…come on, you know I can't stand it…stop it! Tch…" She fell silent, tapping her foot impatiently against the floor, until Florina calmed down.

"Sorr—" she tried to say, but Farina cut her off with a quick, sweet, gentle:

"NO MORE APOLOGIZING!"

Florina looked as if she wanted to apologize for apologizing so much, but quickly snapped her mouth shut. Her eyes were red-rimmed and filled with sorrow…Farina just couldn't stand it.

"Fine," she muttered, looking away. "I know you guys just want what's best for me. I'm sorry I got so angry. It's just that…I want to be able to do things on my own, you know? I have to protect you both, because sometimes you two get so wrapped up in your little 'duties' that you forget to care about yourselves…"

"Farina," ventured Florina softly, "You act like you don't care about anything, but really you take on so much…that's why Fiora and I were talking to you about a sturdy job, and a…a h-husband. Maybe if you found someone, you wouldn't have to bear everything by yourself."

"I don't need anyone," Farina retorted with a scowl. "No man's going to own me, and there's no _way _I'm settling down! Especially with a stupid _lord_…Elimine's name, what possessed you and Fiora to think that I might let Lord _Hector _court me?"

Florina shrugged timidly. "I-I don't know. It just sort of seems…_right._ I know you two argue a lot, but there's just something there…"

"Ooh, yes, true love and pixie dust," Farina snapped sarcastically, waggling her fingers in the air. "Florina, those things don't exist!"

The younger woman shrugged again. "W-well, there's also all those times he's watched out for you. Like that day you collapsed on the battlefield…he just picked you right up like you didn't weigh anything. He made sure you wouldn't get hurt."

"Because he's an idiot and didn't want one of his soldiers dying," Farina instantly dismissed her sister's observations. "And probably cooking up some scheme to one-up Lord Eliwood and the Pheraeans."

"Sister…" Florina sighed and shook her head, but she was smiling.

Farina sighed too. "Look…I'm sorry for getting so mad at you and Fiora."

"Oh, I forgive you." Florina turned her wide, innocent eyes on Farina's. "But…Fiora doesn't know we're having this talk. M-maybe you should go apologize to her…?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I will." Farina grinned at her sister, pleased to note that Florina smiled back. The younger girl began to stand, but quickly teetered on her feet and fell back to the bed.

"Florina?" Farina asked worriedly. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing!" Florina smiled up at her older sister. "I just felt a little dizzy, but the moment passed. C-come on...let's go get Fiora!"

* * *

"HUZZAAAaaaaaah!"

The long and happy exclamation died away as Della charged down a set of stairs, taking them two and three at a time, waving a few sheets of strangely marked paper around in the air. Eliwood hurried after her, afraid that she'd kill herself flying down those steps in that long purple dress, and trying to stop her before she ran into someone _else _and killed _them._

Obviously unaware that he was following her, the tactician jumped down the last few steps, sprinted down the hallway (narrowly avoiding a nasty collision with Matthew), and disappeared into the ballroom. By the time Eliwood got there, he was out of breath. It was evening, and those that had been resting during the day had returned for another night of festivities. He got a glimpse of the people dancing, eating, and socializing in the room before strange lights sparkled in his vision. He fell against the doorpost, fighting the sudden dizziness overcoming him…yet after a few seconds, the odd moment was gone. Eliwood continued to lean against the doorpost for support, just in case, putting his free hand to his head as he surveyed the room for his tactician. Finally he spotted her over in the corner with the musicians, waving her pieces of parchment around, so made his way towards them all.

"Here," Della was saying to the conductor, handing him the parchment. "This is Sing Sing Sing—or at least as much as I could figure out of it. It's written in concert pitch but I'm sure all you non-flutes know how to transpose, correct?"

"Of course," said a cello player, offended.

"Of course," Della echoed. "Here, sight read it for me."

The conductor passed the pages to the musicians, and Eliwood watched them start off a melody that sounded very strange to his ears.

"No no no!" said Della, waving her hands around to cut them off. "Look, it's a jazz piece! NO straight eighth notes! The first one's longer than the second, see…"

The musicians looked very perturbed and started to fumble through the notes as Della began gesturing wildly and trying to explain everything about jazz to them.

"Your tone can't be for classical music, that's like the heresy of jazz, c'mon, make it swing…SWING, darn it! Gosh, I really wish we had a saxophone…you know, the point is to make people tap their toes, make them want to get up and dance, mess with the beat, IMPROVISE! _YOU!_" she thundered, pointing at a flute player. "I said swing the eighth notes! Play that lick!"

"…Lick the song?" the instrumentalist asked, appalled.

"NO!" Della groaned. "Arrrg…ok, look. Play from this measure to this measure."

The flautist tried.

"Nooo! Come on, it's not that hard…just get a beat in your head. Snap out the rhythm." The tactician started snapping her fingers in time to the tempo.

"But this is new and complicated!" the flautist complained. "Perhaps if I had one of those saxerfones you were talking about—"

"FLUTES CAN DO ANYTHING SAXAPHONES CAN DO!" Della bellowed into his face.

Eliwood winced. She would obviously be occupied with the musicians for a while…sometimes when she got an idea in her head she was hard to stop.

Speaking of heads…Eliwood's own was throbbing. He sighed slightly, his hand still at his temple. _What is wrong with me today? My head hurts, I lose my breath so easily, and then there are those odd fits of dizziness…_

"Eliwood!" a loud voice called.

The lord winced again, though his headache had begun to recede slightly. He looked up to find Lyn making her way through the crowd towards him, pulling Kent behind her.

"Eliwood!" she shouted again, grinning.

He waved at them both and shot them a smile of his own. Quickly, before they arrived, he took a deep breath and fought back the rest of the headache. "Lyndis, Kent. Are you ready for another night of celebrating?"

"You bet!" Lyn cheered enthusiastically. When Kent merely gave a half-hearted smile, Lyn glanced up at him. "What is the matter?"

"I have the feeling there is something else I should be doing right now," Kent murmured to her.

Eliwood had always been tactful, and since he could sense that they needed a minute alone, he quickly spotted Hector striding to the doorway and hurried off to say hello.

Once Eliwood was gone, Lyn scowled and turned to face her fiancé, arms folded. "Alright, what's going on."

Kent half-smiled again and averted his eyes, rubbing the back of his neck. "Lyndis…I can't stop thinking about that bracelet I'm supposed to weave for you, for our wedding. It sounds like it will take a lot of time to make, and I really have no idea how to make it." He returned his copper eyes to hers. "Would it be too much trouble for you to teach me how, after the ball is over?"

Lyn just looked up at him, lips compressed into a held-back smile. Finally she could stand it no longer, and burst out into laughter. Kent felt himself flush.

"M-my lady, I'm sorry that I am so incompetent…if it's too much trouble, I will manage in my own way…"

"No, it's not that!" Lyn's eyes were shining with mirth. Kent adored it when she looked so happy. "Kent…actually…I'm not _allowed_ to help you. The husband or wife can't give aid to the other—it's a custom that we're not allowed to see our bracelet until the wedding day."

Kent fell silent and his posture became even more rigid (if that was possible)—subtle but sure signs that he was frustrated. Lyn smiled gently and put a hand on his arm.

"Kent, you really do worry too much."

"But there is so much to take care of—" he began to object, until Lyn's hands found his face and drew it close to her own.

"You need to relax," she whispered.

Her nearness only made his pulse speed up. "You're not helping, my lady."

She giggled—somehow he was able to make her do that more and more often these days—and was about to say something until a new, annoyingly cheerful voice piped:

"I hope I'm not interrupting anything!"

Kent quickly pulled himself away from Lyn have Sain throw an arm around his shoulders.

"My boon companion! How dost thou fare this glorious night!"

"Stop that!" Kent ducked away, taking a step towards Lyn and half-hiding her from view.

_Is he trying to protect her from my beautiful poetics to her kind? _Sain grinned at the thought. _Surely he knows I wouldn't pine after the love of my best friend's life…_

However! There were several other beauties Sain felt it was his duty to check on that night. "Kent, have you any idea where Florina and Isadora have run off to?"

"None whatsoever." From behind her knight, Lyn was trying to cover a smile with her hand, but Kent was clearly not amused. "Sain, must you always act this way?"

Kent's voice was tight; he obviously had a lot on his mind. But Sain knew now was not the time to pry. Instead he sniffed "Touchy!", and flounced away to find someone in a better mood to talk to.

Unfortunately for Sain…very few people seemed to be in good spirits that night.

The green knight frowned, surveying the room. Erk was brooding by himself in a corner, Lord Eliwood looked a bit disoriented, Della walked away from the musicians and out onto the balcony with a scowl on her face, Farina and Florina were pale, Kent fidgeted distractedly even with the Luminescent Lady Lyndis by his side…Elimine, even _Serra _looked grumpy!

"What is _wrong _with everyone tonight?" Sain asked himself, scratching his head in perturbation. It was a ball, a dance, a celebration! Shouldn't they all be happy?

And besides…if no one was happy, Sain would likely become bored very soon. He bit his lip in perturbation and decided to go talk to Della—but Lord Eliwood beat him to the punch, disappearing out onto the balcony. Sain felt himself grin as he followed and peeked around the archway. Perhaps if he was lucky, not _all _of tonight would be boring!

The tactician leaning against the balcony, with Eliwood standing a few steps behind her.

"What are you doing out here by yourself?" the lord asked concernedly.

"HUH?" Della jumped to see him, then relaxed and leaned back onto the balcony. "Oh, Eliwood! Don't mind me, I'm just…thinking…"

"About?" Eliwood crossed the distance between them and stood beside her, staring down into the gardens.

"Oh, nothing. Everything. Sunshine. How are you?" She shot him a grin.

Eliwood shook his head and sighed, once again confused. Why did she always manage to do that to him? "Della…why aren't you inside with all the others?"

"I told you," she insisted, "I'm thinking."

"But wouldn't you rather be dancing?"

"Yeah…" she muttered wistfully, staring out into the darkness.

Eliwood didn't understand. Her voice was too bitter, she was never like this. "Della, is something the matter?"

"Of course not!" She smiled brightly at him again. "I…I…no. Something is." Her smile abruptly dropped, and she sighed. "I just…I'm sorry, but I need to tell someone…I'm really sorry to bother you…but it hurts so much, and maybe if I let it out…"

"What hurts?" Eliwood asked in alarm. He put a hand on her shoulder. "Look at me, tell me what the matter is."

She began to speak, but didn't meet his eyes. "I-I turned off my Gameboy—well, I'll put it so you understand it…This summer, on my way back from Etruria, I took a detour. Home. I went home for a bit."

"You never did tell me where you were from…"

"It doesn't matter," she cut him off sharply. "Anyway…I was there, and…oh, never mind. Let's talk about Genghis Khan instead, that's _always_ a happy topic—"

"No," Eliwood ordered. "Tell me what the matter is."

"Oh, but it's just a stupid little problem!" She was smiling at him again. "I shouldn't dwell on such things, come on, let's go inside and—"

"Is it that boy?" Eliwood blurted out.

Della froze, staring up at him with wide eyes. "Y-you mean…"

"Yes, him. Your shy swordsman. The one you told me about before."

"He's a shy track star 'swordsman', actually…but yes." Della looked at the ground somberly. "Yes. That's him."

"What happened?" Eliwood asked softly.

Della bit her lip. "Well, when I went home…I went to see all my friends. You know, to say hi. And he was there…but…there was this girl always with him. And…she would talk to him. And, even though he never talks to anyone…he would talk back. And he would smile. Oh, it's such a skill to make him smile…I've done it before, but it was never, ever like this…he smiled like he was actually _happy_, it lit up the whole world, it--!" She broke off, blinking rapidly.

"So you're upset over a smile?" Eliwood cocked his head.

"He smiled for _her_," she whispered. "If you could only see the way he looks at her, Eliwood! With such tenderness in his eyes! She's everything I'm not—pretty and graceful and _normal_…I'm much too weird for him. He would never want me over her. She's the only one with the power to make him come out of his shell."

"Della…" The lord saw her eyes shimmer and felt his own eyes widen in shock. It was impossible—Della couldn't cry…she never cried!

"He loves her, Eliwood, and it's driving me mad…I can't let it go! He loves her, he loves her…!" One tear escaped, and Eliwood decided he had had it. He reached out and hugged his tactician fiercely, feeling her sob into his shirt.

"Please don't cry anymore," he whispered, "I would do anything to see you smile again. If something troubles you, let me sweep it away."

Della shook her head. "No. Don't say that to me, Eliwood. Those words belong to Ninian! If I had just planned a little better…you could have been holding _her_ right now, and as much more than a friend. But I screwed it up, and now your love is gone, and it's all my fault that you're alone…"

"I'm not alone," Eliwood murmured back. "I have you and Hector and Lyndis and…these strange dizzy spells…

"What?" Della pulled out of his arms in alarm, and Eliwood stumbled back to the railing of the balcony. He gripped it tightly, fighting the waves of dizziness trying to bring him to the floor.

"My lord?" Della asked worriedly, but her voice sounded far away. Eliwood struggled to breathe, struggled to see past the lights and splotches clouding his vision, but all that managed to do was make him nauseous. His hands trembled at the rail, and as his tactician took a step towards him, he simply collapsed.

Sain's eyes widened, and he quickly ran for help. "Elimine's name…tonight is a _disaster!_"

* * *

_A/N: Gah, too much Della in this chapter. I might have to handcuff her to something again. ANYWAY, since I'm still in The Expeditions of Canas mode (;-P), I have this to say:_

_Will Erk ever understand anything besides books? What the heck is wrong with Eliwood? And will that poor flute player see the light and realize that he is one of the Chosen and has no need for a saxophone? Tune in next time! (And please review…feedback keeps me going on stories like these.)_


	5. Wrong

_A/N: Ahhh, finally another chapter. Haha, I wrote each scene at a different time—and a different mood!—so this feels rather eclectic to me…:-P. This is actually a sort of angsty chapter—well, a bit more suspense than angst, I guess, until you get to the end…at least we've got our hopeless romantic Kent and his even more hopeless and romantic (…?) partner Sain to cheer us up! Haha, I love those two. Anyway, enough of my blathering on. I hope you enjoy it!_

_**Chapter Five—Wrong**_

"Florina?" Farina asked, turning to face her sister. The lavender-haired girl hadn't said a word all night. "Florina, are you alright?"

Florina shook her head silently, her face wan, her lips compressed so tightly that they had turned white.

Farina gave a start and moved towards her younger sister as Florina suddenly slumped back against the wall and sank to the floor. "Florina!"

Farina instantly dropped to her knees beside the fallen Pegasus rider. She felt light-headed and doubted that she would be able to stand back up again, but none of that mattered. All that mattered was that she stayed by her sister's side.

"Hey!" she called urgently, shaking Florina's shoulders lightly in an attempt to keep her awake. Florina's eyelids fluttered, and the light blue irises beneath them were unfocused. "Hey, wake up!"

Fiora was kneeling down by Florina's other side in an instant.

"What happened?" she asked urgently, her voice tinged with the authority and calmness of her station. For once Farina was glad that she had made up with her sister—it was very reassuring to have Fiora beside her once again.

"I don't know," Farina answered, unable to take her eyes from Florina. "She just sort of fell over—ungh…"

Farina sank down, supporting herself on her hands so she could stay on her knees. Her elbows wobbled in an effort to keep herself from dropping completely.

"Like that?" Fiora asked.

"Exactly like that," replied her sister wearily.

Fiora briskly got to her feet. "We need help, but we can't just leave her alone. Do you want to stay, or do you want to go find someone?"

"I'll stay," Farina murmured, sitting back and leaning against the wall for support. "I…I can't stand…"

"What?" Fiora asked sharply, peering into Farina's face. The middle Pegasus sister looked pale and disoriented. "Farina, are you…"

"Help!" a new voice cried, which prevented Fiora from finishing her sentence. "Somebody, help!"

Fiora turned, only to have Sain barrel right into her, his arms wrapping tightly around her waist. A curious crowd began to gather around them, noting Florina and Farina and murmuring amongst themselves.

"Beauteous Fiora!" Sain exclaimed, lowering his forehead to the Pegasus rider's shoulder in a show of despair, "You must help! Lord Eliwood has collapsed!"

Fiora roughly shoved the knight away. "Enough of that! My sisters are ill, I have little time to—" She gasped as Sain's words sank in. "L-lord Eliwood?"

Several people in the crowd gasped, and Lyn looked at Kent in alarm.

"Eliwood?!" she asked fearfully. As Sain began hastily explaining the situation, she turned away from the crowd and sprinted toward the balcony where she had seen him last, with Kent right behind her.

She found Eliwood crumpled on the ground, unconscious, with a frantic Della kneeling beside him. She looked up when she heard Lyn and Kent approaching, and Lyn was astonished to see that the tactician's eyes were red—she had been crying.

"Help him!" Della pleaded. "I don't know what's wrong!"

Kent wasted no time, going to Eliwood and lifting the younger man up. Lyn hurried to his side, her eyes concerned, and Della refused to let go of Eliwood's hand as Kent hurried back into the ballroom.

Meanwhile, Sain had gotten Wil and Wallace to bring Florina and Farina to their rooms. (He had volunteered himself, but Wallace had slammed him into the wall with a sweep of his large arm, so Sain gave up.) Luckily for Wil, Florina was already unconscious and so was unable to shriek at the prospect of being in his arms…unluckily for Wallace, Farina was highly against being carried or helped in any way and so used all of her remaining energy on struggling and yelling. Finally the two men managed to make it out of the room, and the remaining people within it gave way to gasps and panicked conversations.

Kent nearly ran up the stairs to Eliwood's room, and set the young marquess down on his bed. Lyn immediately rushed to her friend's side and grabbed his hand.

"Kent," Della ordered, "Go find a healer!"

The red knight nodded once and was gone.

"What's the matter with him?" Lyn asked her former tactician worriedly.

Della only shook her head, and brushed at her eyes with her green sleeve. "I-I don't know. He was fine before, and then he just keeled over."

"It's nothing to cry about." Lyn fought to steady her voice. "I'm sure he'll be alright…"

"That's not why I was crying. But you're right, Lyn, we shouldn't panic."

The two young women gave in to silence, both watching their sleeping friend. At least he was breathing evenly, so things seemed peaceful enough…

Until Della suddenly screeched, "NO YOU'RE TOTALLY WRONG I _SHOULD _PANIC! Lyn, let go of his hand and leave the room right now!"

"What?" Lyn cried. "No!" With her characteristic defiance, she held Eliwood's hand to her cheek. "He stayed by me when I was wounded, I shall stay by him when he is ill!"

"But that's exactly it! He's sick! This could be contagious, Lyn! Who knows? Not me, at least not yet! I won't take that chance!"

"If you make me leave here, I will only go to Florina's side instead!" Lyn argued back. "I will not—I _cannot_—sit by and not know how my friends are faring."

"Would you rather deal with that anxiety, or deal with the fact that you caused more illness?" challenged Della. "If you get sick—egad, which you probably _are _by now!—you will only spread it to more people. Do you want Kent and Hector to become this sick, too?"

Lyn bit her lip and fell silent.

"Please, Lyn," Della whispered. "Just go. I want you to be okay."

Lyn reluctantly released Eliwood and rose to her feet. "But what about you?"

"He needs somebody to watch over him until a healer gets here. Besides…" Della looked away from Lyn, to Eliwood's drawn face. "A good tactician never leaves their lord's side."

"A good friend would never leave his side, either." Lyn folded her arms.

"But your medieval immune system can't handle this—whereas mine can stave it off." Della grinned cheerfully. "Don't you worry, Lyn. Even if the virus is passed to me, it surely won't affect me…and so long as I'm not around anyone else, this illness will stay right here!"

"…If you're sure…" Lyn said doubtfully.

The tactician just beamed up at her. "My dear Lyndis, I'm always sure."

Lyn raised an eyebrow, but chuckled slightly and left the room.

Kent hurried up to her, leading Serra, who pushed passed the knight and his lady to get into Eliwood's room.

"Is he alright?" Kent murmured.

"For the moment," Lyn replied. "Oh, I want so badly to go to Florina now…I want to see if she's okay, too…"

"I think it's time that you retire," the red knight said softly. "You look exhausted."

"Yeah…I've felt a little foggy nearly all day…"

"Come on, then." Kent put his arm around her shoulders and began leading her back to her room. "You need to rest…Fiora just said that she is feeling odd as well, and if her sisters were any indication…"

"Oh, Elimine…" Lyn's voice came out weaker than she had intended—she stumbled against Kent.

He put his arms around her to steady her, his eyes suddenly flooded with worry and fear. "No," he whispered, drawing her against him, "No, not you, too…"

"Could be." Lyn grinned weakly.

"Oh, Lyndis…" Kent buried his face in her hair. "How can I help?"

"First of all, stay away from me. If I am sick, I don't want it spreading to you." Lyn ducked away from his hold, then smiled up at him sheepishly. "But…er…could you make sure I don't fall over on the way to my room?"

"Of course," Kent vowed vehemently. He walked with her the rest of the way down the corridor and into her room—though she didn't waver any more in the hallway, she did collapse onto the bed.

"Della was right," she murmured, chuckling. "I _did _get this from Eliwood. But it must have been earlier today, not just a second ago. And then…after breakfast…I went to go talk to…" She put her hands to her cheeks, horrified. "Oh no, _I_ must have given it to Florina! And she became sick faster because she always has fallen ill more quickly than I…"

"No, don't blame yourself," Kent whispered, drawing a blanket over her. "Just sleep. My lady…" He fell silent and brushed her emerald bangs away from her forehead before pulling a chair to her bedside and seating himself.

"No," said Lyn right away, shooting up to a sitting position. "Don't even think about it."

"I will not leave you alone in here," Kent retorted determinedly. "It is my duty…to my lady and my love."

"You already proved how long you can stick to duty," Lyn reminded him. "Three whole days that one time I was wounded was _long enough!_ Now leave—that's an order!"

"I thought you told me that our authorities were equal now." Kent's defiance was balanced by the calmness of his voice…and of course that heart-meltingly concerned look he was giving her.

"I'm not ordering you as your lady. I'm ordering you as your future _wife._ Leave!" Lyn pointed resolutely at the door, just as Pent walked by.

"You should listen to her," he advised Kent with a chortle. "She'll have your head, otherwise!"

Kent sighed heavily, but got to his feet. He walked to join Pent in the doorway, but once he was there he gripped the doorpost and looked back at Lyn.

"If you need anything…"

"I'll be fine." Lyn waved him away, so he and Pent disappeared from view. Once they were gone, she slumped back to the pillow with her head aching. "Phew…I think I sat up too quickly…"

She closed her eyes and tried to relax, feeling the room spin dizzyingly around her until she finally sank into slumber.

* * *

"It's hopeless." Serra shrugged and flipped her pink pigtails over her shoulder with a toss of her head. She looked around Eliwood's grand bedroom, and then to the lord himself. "There's nothing my staff will do…its miracles are only for the battlefield."

"I never thought I'd say this," Della muttered, "But I wish I had some Robitussen…"

Serra wrinkled her nose. "I don't know what that is, but it sounds yucky."

"It's beyond yucky." Della shuddered.

Serra stared at Eliwood for another moment, then sighed and rose to her feet. "Well, he's not gonna die or anything. Come on, let's go back to the ballroom—or at least get some sleep."

Della frowned. "I don't want to."

"Come on!" Serra tugged on the tactician's sleeve. "I want to see my Erky! And even if I didn't want to, I'm still sleepy!"

"Well, I'm not!"

"Nyah!"

"NYAH!"

"_NYAH NYAH!"_

Della winced. "Okay, you win."

"Of course I do." Serra sniffed, then looked down her nose at the lord and his tactician. "Fine…if you want to lose a night's sleep for some tactical 'duty', that's _your _decision!" The cleric turned on her heel and flounced out, nearly barreled into a passing-by Sain, grinned and twirled her hair in what she was _sure _was a charming manner, and then stumbled off into the darkness to seek the ballroom.

Sain plastered his hand over his heart, simply overcome by the cleric's unique beauty, before peeking into Lord Eliwood's room. He had decided that Kent was too uptight at the moment, pacing around his chamber and fussing over Lyn's health…and, quite frankly, that bored Sain. So he went searching for another friend to keep him occupied. Said friend was at Eliwood's bedside, muttering to herself.

"Serra said it was my decision about losing sleep…and since I'm sleep deprived, staying here would be a bad decision…hmm, what did the priest say about bad decisions last Sunday?...Oh yeah! _Don't make them! _Well, I suppose that settles that." Della jumped to her feet. She moved to the bowl of cool water on a nightstand and grabbed a cloth out of it to wipe Eliwood's brow one last time…when his eyes fluttered open.

"What…?" he whispered hoarsely, unable to see through the veils of sickness and darkness around him.

"Just me, milord," Della whispered back reassuringly. He stared at her for a moment.

"…Ninian?"

"N-no!" the tactician tried to protest, but Eliwood had already pulled her onto his bed with a strength Sain was surprised to see in a man who was unconscious but a minute ago.

"You won't leave me again, will you?" the lord asked softly, pleadingly, as his arms circled around her.

Della shook her head vigorously. "No, no, you have it all wrong! It's me, it's Del—"

She was cut off as Eliwood buried his face in her neck. Sain heard her gasp, saw her tense up. She opened her mouth to protest again, but closed it before she had said a word. The lord had fallen back into a peaceful sleep.

Della sighed. "Oh, fine…I guess I'm staying the night after all. Stupid delirious pansy." Sain saw her slowly relax, and turned away from the room—rubbing his hands together with an impish grin on his face.

"I will personally see to it that she never lives this down!"

* * *

The frantic buzz of speculative conversation in the ballroom sounded like a mosquito zipping by Hector's ear. He ground his teeth at the annoying noise, his big hands clenching and unclenching at his sides as he wondered how his friends were faring. He had always worried for Florina (the girl could hardly hold her lance!), Fiora had suddenly left the room as well, and seeing Farina ill was downright unnerving (how could someone so feisty succumb to a sickness? It was…unjust, that Farina should have to suffer. Not that Hector cared, of course.). Worst of all, though, was Hector's anxiety for Eliwood. His best friend had been through an immense amount over the past few months—war, the death of his father, his unintentional murder of Ninian, his completely intentional murder of Nergal (which the redhead still guilted himself about, Hector knew, though Nergal's death had been necessary), his unwanted engagement to Lyn…Hector suppressed a shudder. Now _that _had been an ordeal.

…Just like the ordeal right here.

Hector stared at the frantic people in the ballroom, feeling panic start to mount within him as well. _Illness killed my parents…illness killed Uther…what if this is just as bad? What if this kills off Eliwood and Farina? What if is spreads?! An illness is invisible—I can't fight it, I can't use my axe against it, not even Armads would stand a chance! I'm powerless! So if it DOES spread, everyone in this blasted castle could…!" _

Quickly the blue-haired lord leapt up onto the nearest table and shouted, "EVERYONE, SHUT UP!"

A hush quickly fell over the room. Those unacquainted with Hector were silenced only through shock at his rude and abrupt manner, but those that were accustomed to the young lord and his blunt speech realized that something important was about to be said. All eyes turned to Hector.

Atop the table, young marquess cleared his throat—obviously unabashed at his behavior. "Everyone…" he began, "Well, you saw what just happened. Lord Eliwood is sick, as are the Pegasus sisters--"

"And Lady Lyndis," a voice added worriedly from the back of the room.

Hector glanced over at Kent, who had just walked through the door. "Okay, and Lyn too. You know what, I saw Pent and Louise leave a minute ago as well…anyway, back to my point!" The lord stamped his foot down on the table and ran a hand through his short hair in irritation. "We don't know what's causing this or how serious it is. We don't know who else will become ill. So I say…that you all go home."

The room erupted into surprised whispers again.

"Be quiet!" Hector ordered sharply. "Don't complain, don't delay—just go, before you get sick too! Go back to your homes and your families; this party has gone on long enough anyway."

People were still murmuring, but they seemed to be murmurs of agreement. Hector sighed at a job well done and jumped off of the table.

"Milord," said a voice quietly from behind him, "You seem extremely agitated…"

"You think so?" Hector snapped, whirling around to face Matthew. He expected the thief to be laughing at him…but Matthew's brown eyes, instead of teasing, were full of sorrow.

"I know you pretty well, Lord Hector," was all he said.

Hector merely glared at the thief. "What are you implying."

Matthew shrugged and shot his lord a small smile. "I just can tell what's on your mind, that's all. But…" he pressed on before Hector could scoff—or worse, turn away. "Milord…it's okay to be afraid."

"I'm not afraid!" Hector cried, a blush of anger staining his features. Matthew was not intimidated. He just shrugged again.

"If you say so. But, my lord—" A weak grin was his only defense against the scathing look Hector shot him—"You know…the malady your friends have is not the same as the one that claimed your parents and your brother."

"I know that." Hector's scowl, if possible, darkened further. "I just…I can't…I can't help but be…"

"I know," Matthew said simply, softly. He clapped a hand on the big lord's shoulder before disappearing into the dissipating crowd. Hector glowered after the spy.

"It's his job," he muttered to himself, "But it makes me want to hire somebody who doesn't _know _so blasted much…"

* * *

Erk bit his lip, his eyes flickering anxiously over the crowds in the ballroom. _Where is Priscilla? Did she go to attend to Lord Eliwood or the Pegasus sisters? She's not ill herself, is she--?! No, no, there she is…_The young mage spotted her over near the doors, with one of Heath's arms protectively around her shoulders. Erk breathed a sigh of relief until another thought struck him: _Oh no—what if she's leaving already!_

Now he could feel desperation stir within him, rising up like floodwaters. He fought through the crowd to get to Priscilla. She had told him that a very sweet cleric had feelings for him…she had to have been hinting at herself, she _had _to! There was no other logical explanation, and of course Erk was advanced in all things logical. So he had to go to her, he had to pull that wyvern-riding scourge away from her, he had to convince her to stay by his side…_Priscilla, I've never loved anyone this way before! Please, let me open up to you, since I can be open around no one else!_

Her name, spinning around in his head, was made real and solid as he caught up to her and Heath, as he called it out and sent it forth through the air.

"Priscilla!"

The healer turned around in surprise to see Erk running towards her. With an apologetic look at Heath, she ducked away from his arm and hurried towards her sage friend. His usually pale face was flushed from his sprint, and he was panting for air.

"Erk, what's the matter?" she asked worriedly.

Erk did not answer, but took both of her hands urgently. She did not pull away because she sensed that he needed some form of support. "Priscilla…I have to…I…what I mean, is…"

The sage blushed and looked away, and Priscilla found herself confused. Erk was usually so much more eloquent.

"You're not leaving, are you?" he asked finally, raising his head to fix his eyes on hers.

"I-I am," Priscilla stammered in reply. "Why?"

"But where will you go?"

"Back to Caerleon." The troubadour peered at her friend. Why was he so worked up?

Erk bit his lip and took a deep breath. "But…Lady Priscilla…would you like to return to Santaruz with me?"

Priscilla had gone from confused to baffled. "What? B-but…that would be imposing on you and Lord Pent! I have a home in Caerleon to return to…why do you wish me to go with you?"

Erk chanced a glance at Heath. The wyvern rider looked a bit anxious, and he studied Erk with a soldier's stoic, experienced eye. _He knows,_ Erk realized suddenly. _He knows how I feel. But Priscilla must not…_

"I…" Erk began to say to her, "It's because I…I'm…"

His throat was suddenly too dry—his words got stuck inside of it. He gripped Priscilla's hands tighter, willing his emotions to flow into her, but her perplexed eyes showed him that his efforts were in vain. _Curse you, Erk! You are a SAGE! You have fought bandits, armies, dragons! You have bled, you have killed, you have stared death itself in the eye…what is so formidable about gentle Priscilla?_

With that resolved, Erk tried to speak again. "It's because…I…"

Priscilla looked back to Heath, perhaps for support, and Erk blurted out, "Because I _love_ you!"

She slowly turned to face him, her face so frozen with shock that Erk had no idea what emotions were going on beneath it.

_Oh no…_Priscilla thought sorrowfully, _What Serra said was true! And now I've gone and told Serra that he loves her…but he loves ME…ah, and he said so with Heath right there—how embarrassing! Erk…Erk, why did you fall for me? Why did such a silly notion enter your head?_

He was still staring at her, his eyes pleading. Yet—though it made her heart ache—Priscilla closed her own eyes, detached her hands from his, and slowly shook her head. "No, Erk…I can't go with you."

"What?" His voice, not only bewildered, was tinged with horror. "Why not?"

"Erk…"

"Please explain, Priscilla." He continued to gaze at her, and she almost smiled to remember how analytical her friend was. He would need an answer, and a good one, or else the torment of not knowing would drive him mad. "You told me earlier of one who cared for me…and…I had hoped…"

"I'm sorry, Erk," Priscilla said softly. She took one of his hands and held it between both of hers. "I didn't mean me…I'm so sorry…"

"…Oh." Erk's voice came out quiet and squeaky—a little boy's, not a man's. He looked to Heath to see even Heath's eyes full of sympathy for his plight. Erk blushed hard enough to match the crimson of his cape.

"…I have to go," whispered Priscilla. "I apologize, Erk…I didn't mean to hurt you…" With that, she let go of his hand.

"That's fine," Erk managed to force out through numb lips. "Lady Priscilla…I wish you health and happiness." He nodded stiffly and she and Heath, then turned and fought his way back through the crowd. His fists clenched against the emotions he was desperate to block out, as he had so many times before…

_Why does this torment me so? I've known for so long that she could never feel the same way about me…I should be used to it…_He felt his eyes sting, and shook his head as if that would dispel his sorrow. _No, no…I can't cry…this is pathetic…besides, I'm sure I've already used up all my tears…_

But when the brilliant young sage finally struggled out into an empty corridor, gave himself up to its silence and his own sense of loss, tried to force down the harsh burn of his embarrassment…he found that, for one of the few times in his life…he was wrong. He had let himself hope once more—_Idiot that I am!_—but even an emotion as basic and natural as hope had been dashed. He sank to his knees, unable to find the strength to fight against the sobs shaking his body. He didn't know how to even search for that strength. He didn't know anything. Because he was wrong, wrong, _wrong.

* * *

_

_A/N: Waaah, poor Emo Erk! (Well…a True Emo has no reason to be sad—they just ARE—whereas Erk has a very good reason.) But still. Sorry Erky, I don't mean to bash you!_

_And Hector always struck me as the sort who would fear illness. He's not scared of warriors or weapons or even death, really…but illness is something he can't fight. And that's probably very scary to someone like him. D'you think that makes sense?_

_Ah yes, one last note: ROBITUSSEN. IS. DISGUSTING. Anyway, now that all that's over…please review if you feel the whim to make my day:-)_


	6. Words

_A/N: GRRRR. I just re-read the chapter and found out that when the site loaded it up, it deleted a couple of paragraphs between scene changes. It was possible to understand before, but now I've fixed it back to its original length. Sorry about any confusion!_

_And I'm soooo sorry this has taken so long to post (well…at least it's a long chapter…that has to make you a little happier, right…?). This year has been difficult for me, but I thank you for your patience. _

_Aaanyway…so, the plot is getting a bit difficult to organize…there's so much going on at once here! (laughs) I just have a knack for making things complicated, I guess. Well, I hope ya enjoy it and whatnot._

_**Chapter Six—Words**_

In the early hours before dawn, Priscilla noted, there was something very different about the world. Those that didn't spend their time up at such ungodly hours would probably never notice the subtle contrasts between the darkness before midnight and the darkness after it. Before was a time of romance and excitement—with a sky as black as pitch, a moon as dazzling as the sun, and stars as close and friendly as a group of fireflies. However, after such magic powers faded, the world took on a whole new cast. People became quiet and peaceful as exhaustion took over, the black sky lightened to an unfathomably dark blue as if preparing for a surprise attack from the sun, the edges of the white moon blurred, and the stars flew away until they were little more than specks. It was beautiful in its own way, but it was a strange and alien beauty—made all the more odd to Priscilla due to the sluggish way her mind was working.

Although she was not actually _sleepy, _she was tired. Images raced into her eyes, but she didn't really think about them. She wasn't really thinking about anything—her brain had settled into a steady rhythm of making her lungs draw in air and her heart beat, sending her into a quiescent state where she didn't really need to occupy herself with anything else. She was faintly aware of the environment around her—the leather wyvern saddle beneath her, Heath's strong chest against her back, and ground far, far below. The wind was cold against her bare legs, and she sighed as she realized that summer was fading.

"Something the matter?" Heath murmured into her ear.

Priscilla opened her mouth to speak, but it took a second for her tongue to gather the energy to move. "No…I just am not ready for winter…"

"It's only the beginning of autumn." Heath was silent for a moment, but Priscilla noticed his hands tighten on Hyperion's reigns. "Pris...they say that spring is a time for new beginnings…so does that mean that autumn is a time for endings?"

"An ending of my life without you," Priscilla replied happily, not really thinking about what she was saying. She was too tired to think, the words came all on their own. However, she must have blurted out the right thing, because the next feeling she was aware of was that of Heath's lips pressing hard against her own. It was a bit uncomfortable to sit on a wyvern one way while trying to twist backwards the other way, but as Heath deepened the kiss and tangled his hand into her red hair she decided she could stand it a bit longer.

"You've _gotta _be right," he whispered as he pulled away. "My life must always have you in it, or it will end…"

Priscilla was fairly certain that was what was called a Deep Thought, but she was spared from mulling it over when Heath bent forward and kissed her again. Suddenly she felt wide awake—all of her senses were enhanced as Heath's strong arms wrapped around her, as the moonlight glinted off of his smooth face when he broke away to breathe. His third kiss was more zealous than the first two, and his fourth more so than that, and—

"Heath!" Priscilla squeaked, stopping him before his lips met hers again. She swayed in Hyperion's saddle as she giddily realized just how high up they were. "We're on a _wyvern!"_

Heath glanced down at the ground, his eyes widening slightly. "…Oh. Forgive me..."

Priscilla just laughed dizzily. "I'm afraid I'm going to fall…"

"I would never let you," Heath promised fervently. "_Never, _Priscilla."

He leaned forward once more. Though the kiss he gave her was swift and chaste, it sent more of a shiver through Priscilla than his passionate ones.

"How…how far until Caerleon?" she managed to ask after a moment.

"Mm." Heath made a noncommittal noise and took one hand away from Hyperion's reins to run it through his long, forest-green hair. He stared at the misty horizon for a moment, thinking. "We've flown almost all night…if we keep on without stopping, we should be there by noon tomorrow."

"I'm so excited." Priscilla grabbed his free hand and squeezed it. "Just think, Heath…my parents get to meet you, finally! This will be so wonderful!"

"Y-yeah…yeah, it'll be really great." Heath smiled weakly.

_By tomorrow I'll be talking to Priscilla's parents…and they won't be blinded by love, as she is. Doubtlessly they will see me as I am—a mere wyvern rider. I'm no noble, I'm a RENEGADE…so unworthy of their daughter…can I even dare to hope that they will accept me?_

Priscilla's hand was still holding onto his, her skin soft against the rough calluses he had built up from using a lance so often. He felt his smile widen.

_Yes...yes, I can dare to hope..._

* * *

When Eliwood awoke, to an elegant room awash in cheerful sunlight, his senses returned slowly. At first he was only aware of the fact that he was warm, then quickly realized that was because there was somebody else curled up against him. He already had an arm around the sleeping person, and could feel their hair brushing against his hand. _Can it be?...Ninian? _

Sleep still blurred his vision, but he was all too happy to close his eyes again. This must be a dream…his head felt foggy, his limbs felt thick, but if it all really _was _just a dream, he knew that he never wanted to wake up. Besides, he didn't need his eyes—his lips moved of their own accord, to the top of her head, to her cheek…

Eliwood opened his bleary eyes to find that her mouth—which he was aiming for next—was halfway covered with a sheet of hair. He raised a hand to move the brown locks aside…

Wait. Brown. Not blue…_brown. _

Eliwood gasped and all but leapt away from the girl, retreating to the very edge of his bed. His heart thundered in his chest as he finally registered that it was _Della _there.

The tactician didn't seem to notice his outburst of surprise…she simply rolled over and let out a snore. Eliwood just stared at her, waiting for his pulse to slow down. But it didn't.

Dizziness suddenly overcame him, from moving so quickly, and with a breathless sigh he sank back down to his pillow. _Can't…breathe…Elimine, what is wrong with me? And…why is my tactician in my bed?!_

Not that that was particularly a _bad _thing, not between the both of them…she had spent the night in his tent before—it was the night Eliwood had killed Ninian, the night he had begged his tactician to stay with him, because he knew he could not stand being alone with himself…with his grief, with his guilt, with the blood on his hands. Della had consented, Eliwood had cried himself to sleep, and when he awoke the next day she was beside him, true to her word.

But _that _was during the war, during a time when it was her very job to be by his side. _This _was a time of peace, safe in his own castle…with plenty of people around to start rumors. _What is she doing here…come to think of it, what am I doing here? I don't remember last night…_

No, he did remember a bit. Finding Della near tears on the balcony, feeling disoriented and sick, the ground rushing up to meet his head…

_I must have collapsed_, he realized suddenly. _I didn't realize…I didn't stop to think about how weak I felt. Has Della been ill, as well? _He edged back closer to her and looked her over. She didn't seem out of the ordinary…besides the fact that she was actually being still and quiet. Elimine, when she was asleep she looked ten times less formidable!...and a good deal more fragile.

"Is that why you're here?" he whispered, putting his arm around her again. "Because you feel…how I felt, all those months ago? Because you were afraid to be alone?"

"I'm never afraid," she mumbled back.

"Ah!" With a startled cry, Eliwood jolted back to the edge of his bed again. "Y-you're awake!"

"Sorta." Groggily the tactician raised herself up on an elbow. "I heard you say something about me being scared…but I don't get scared…I laughed out loud at 'The Ring' and 'The Grudge'…oh, and 'Seven'—not that it was that funny, but I did like the references to Dante and Thomas Aquinas…"

"What?" Whoops—he had moved too fast again. The room was spinning…

Della didn't seem to notice his question—she merely yawned in a highly un-ladylike fashion.

"What are you doing in here?" Eliwood asked, now concerned instead of confused.

"Eh?" Della looked around and seemed to realize where she was. "OHHH! That's right! Well…" She chuckled sheepishly.

"Well?" Eliwood raised an eyebrow. This issue was kind of important.

Della shot him a half-smile. "You collapsed last night, and I was here with Serra making sure you were alright. When she said you were, I was about to go…but you wouldn't let me leave."

"What? Why not?" Eliwood furrowed his brow. "I can't remember anything after I blacked out."

"You were delirious," Della explained. "You thought I…"

"I thought what?"

Della looked up at the ceiling for a moment as if trying to be tactful before giving up and saying in her usual blunt manner: "You thought I was Ninian."

"W-what?" gasped Eliwood.

"Don't shoot the messenger, dude," said Della with a shrug. "I don't know why you thought that, but you were so anxious for me to stay…so I stayed, because I didn't want you to freak out."

Eliwood didn't say anything for a moment. He stared moodily at the window, and past it to the blue morning sky painted with streaks of white. _How could I ever have made such a mistake…?_

"Still haven't healed all they way?" Della asked softly, shifting so that she was kneeling on the bed.

"I…I suppose not," the lord murmured back.

"It's all right." She ruffled his crimson hair. "Time heals all wounds…or so I've been told."

"What of your wounds?" Eliwood asked suddenly.

"What are you talking about?"

"No, you can't possibly be _that _forgetful! What of your wounds, of your tears last night?" Eliwood caught her hand, instinctively afraid that she would get up and bolt like a frightened squirrel.

Della stared at him a moment, but finally she sighed and lowered her eyes. A smile crossed her lips. "Eliwood…I'm fine. I'm a girl, I have my moments, you know? I'm an optimist at heart…and sure, that heart might be smashed to smithereens right now…but…look at the sun!"

"Don't change the subject," said Eliwood irately.

"I'm not! And you would do well not to interrupt me when I'm about to go on a philosophical rant!" Della gave an indignant sniff before grinning and pointing at the window. "The sun is there. The world _can't _be dark…because it keeps spinning. No matter how long the night is…it _will _end, because the sun is always just around the next curve! Nothing can stop it, so shadows and sorrow will never reign for long!" She paused for a moment. "Well…unless the sun implodes. Then it might turn into a black hole and we would all be sucked into its all-powerful and unyielding torrent of darkness which not even light itself as a perception can escape. How's THAT for emo?"

Eliwood blinked. And then he promptly fell back to his pillow with a moan of pain, clutching his aching head.

Della giggled. "Oh, come on. I haven't even started on Relativity!"

Eliwood closed his eyes and didn't say anything. He felt Della flop to her stomach beside him, and her breath stir by his ear: "Stop more worrying about me, mmkay? It's my job to worry about you, not the other way around. So…I know the thought of Ninian still hurts…but you _will _get better. I promis—OOH, WAFFLES!"

"What?" Eliwood lurched to a sitting position as Della vaulted off the bed and ran for the door. "W-what is going on?"

"I smell waffles!" he heard her cry before she disappeared around the doorpost. "Loooowen! I love yoooouuu!"

Eliwood winced and put a hand to his ringing ear. _She screamed right into it...ahh, my head...how did I become so ill?_

* * *

"Oy," said Hector, tapping his knuckles against the doorpost of Farina's room. "You awake?" 

The Pegasus rider buried her throbbing head beneath her pillow. "No I'm not. Go away."

"I didn't know you talked in your sleep," Hector teased with a grin. It felt good to talk hear Farina—Hector had been up, pacing around, all night long…with no one to talk to. Absolutely everyone had evacuated castle Pherae—upon Hector's orders, actually—when people had begun showing signs of a strange disease. Now the only people in the place were those that lived there, those who had fallen ill and couldn't travel (Eliwood, all three Pegasus sisters, Lyn, and Pent), and those that refused to leave their comrades alone in their sickbeds (Della, Sain and Kent, Erk and Louise, Hector, and his Ostian entourage of Matthew, Serra, and Oswin.). It had been terribly boring…and although Farina was irritating, she was certainly _not _boring. Thus, in desperation, Hector had come to visit her.

"Obviously you don't know anything," Farina snapped.

Hector shrugged and leaned against the doorpost. "For once I won't dispute that…I'm pretty confused this morning. Over the course of a couple of days a bunch of people got sick, no one knows what caused it, and quite frankly I have no idea what's going on!"

"Please don't yell," moaned the Pegasus Rider, trying to bury her head deeper beneath the pillow.

"Er…sorry," Hector said, more softly this time.

Farina's lips quirked upward slightly, though no one could see it. To hear the stomping, headstrong Hector apologize was simply _too _amusing.

"What're you doing here," she mumbled, too tired to even form her sentence into a question.

"What?" Unable to hear her, Hector leaned forward.

"Whattadooinhir…" Farina had given up trying to speak without making her head pound more. She ignored the fact that Hector was trying to hear her and spoke straight into the mattress.

Hector raised an eyebrow. "_What?" _

"Wadadunhrr…!"

"I can't hear you!" the marquess of Ostia snapped in annoyance.

Farina un-burrowed herself to glare at him. "My head is splitting open! Just come over _here _if you want to talk to me!" Immediately after her last words left her lips she let her head drop back onto the pillow, closing her eyes against the pain of her outburst.

Hector eyed the room warily. "…No."

"No?" Farina asked, opening one eye. "Why not?"

Hector merely leaned back against the doorpost, folded his arms, and glowered at the stone floor. _I can't tell her…what would she think of me? What would become of mighty Marquess Ostia if some loud-mouthed wench found out…what if she found out…that I'm afraid? _He wasn't sure what was worse—everyone finding out that he was afraid of something as insubstantial as an illness, or _Farina _finding out that he was afraid of _anything. But why would I care what she thinks of me…?_

"So you're not coming in?"

"It's not worth my time," said Hector nonchalantly.

"Not worth your time!" Farina was enraged—almost enough to forget her headache. _Of all the nerve! _"Why did you even come over here if it 'wasn't worth your time', All-Powerful Marquess Ostia?"

Her voice had enough venom to burn Hector's face off, and her gaze enough to melt the rest of him, but Hector didn't even blink. In fact, he almost smiled.

_Such fire! I wonder if she realizes how pretty she is when she's angry…she must, since she's so angry all the time…_

In response to Farina's question, Hector merely smirked, shrugged, and walked away.

Farina clutched at her pillow in a rage, fingernails digging into the fabric. _Such rudeness! I wonder if he realizes how handsome he is when he's infuriating...he must, since he's so infuriating all the time..._

* * *

If one were to pass by the room next to that of Lady Lyndis of Caelin, one would have heard a very familiar conversation. It was such a typical conversation, in fact, that one wouldn't even have to look into the room to know who the carriers of the conversation _were._

"My stalwart companion…you're no fun!" one voice protested.

"You think this is a time for fun?" the other demanded, trembling slightly. "Lady Lyndis is _ill_ and you want to go have _fun_? You're hopeless—the most irresponsible knight I've ever known!"

"But you're always too wrapped up in your responsibilities! Won't you just come stroll with me, just for a minute?"

"I can't leave her side, Sain!"

"There you go again!"

"I have a duty!"

"What else is new?"

The other voice heaved a great, weary sigh. "Sain, I'm…I'm so worried about her."

"I understand," the first man said softly.

"Forgive me for yelling…I'm just…"

"I know, partner. Why don't…why don't I leave you alone now, and come back to make you abandon your tasks later?"

Kent chuckled. "Alright…that's a deal."

"HA! I have your word now!" Sain exited the room with a grin. _Well, I can see Kent later today then…but who shall occupy me now?_

The answer, of course, was the tactician—who made it a point to always be occupied—so Sain set off in search of Della. Passing by Lord Eliwood's room he heard a cluster of voices. The door was open a crack. However, not sure if manners would permit him to enter, Sain stayed out in the hallway and peered into the room to see what was going on.

"You all need to leave," Eliwood mumbled, looking to someone at his bedside. Sain craned his neck to get a better look and found Lady Eleanora seated by her son, with Marcus, Della, and Lowen sitting behind her. "Mother, you'll get sick…"

"Oh, just shut up and let me examine you," came an annoyingly cheerful voice. Sain saw Della stick her tongue out at the young lord. "I have a 21st century immune system, so I'm safe. Besides, with and Priscilla and Serra and Lucius da Pwner gone, and Pent sick, I'm the only one left who can be a doctor. So what are your symptoms, hmm?"

Eliwood bit his lip but eventually told her everything—Sain heard about dizzy spells, about difficulty breathing, about weakness. Pherae's marquess said that he didn't understand it, and had never felt that way before.

"I get that sometimes," Della admitted, "But that's because of low blood pressure. And this is obviously not to do with your blood pressure…"

"Perhaps it has something to do with the blood itself?" Marcus suggested.

Lowen raised his head, the very image of a hound perking up its ears.

"Perhaps…" Della mused.

Lowen shot to his feet.

"Will leeches be needed?" Eleanora asked worriedly.

Lowen began heading out the door to find some.

"No, no!" Della cried.

Lowen instantly halted in his tracks.

"But if it is a problem of the blood," Marcus began to argue, "wouldn't we need—"

Lowen began walking again.

"NO LEECHES!" Della screeched.

Lowen stopped and frowned, clearly confused.

Della cleared her throat. "Look, that is…disgusting. Leeches have never worked in the past, and they never will. In fact, if this is a problem related to the blood, losing blood—and therefore, white blood cells—will NOT help him. It will in fact make him worse."

Lowen went back to his chair and sat back down.

"Then what are we to do?" queried Eleanora. "Do you know exactly what ails him?"

Eliwood looked up at Della. Sain also turned his eyes to her, hoping for the answer. _If she can fix Lyn, Kent can relax for once!_

The tactician stared at the ground and mumbled, "No, I don't know what this sickness is…BUT." She suddenly looked up, a familiar fire in her eyes. "Obviously I know more about medicine then all of you combined, what with my education. I think…I _hope_…that no matter what course this illness takes, I will be able to stop as much suffering as I can."

"…So no leeches," Lowen said, to clarify.

"We've been over this, boy!" barked Marcus.

"Then what are we to do?" Eleanora interrupted, looking at Della. "How are we to stop the suffering?"

"_You _can leave this room immediately," the tactician retorted. "That goes for Marcus and Lowen, too. All of you need to stay far away from anyone that is sick. Obviously this illness is contagious—come on, you can _trace _it! From Eliwood to Lyn to Florina to Farina to Fiora to Pent…"

"Fiora gave it to Lord Pent?" Marcus asked in confusion.

"Oh yeah, you know that whole knight's brigade thing Fiora had goin' on, and why she was so angsty because they all died and she's totally convinced that it's all her fault?" Everyone stared at her blankly, so Della nodded her head to answer her own question. "Yup, Pent commissioned that mission. So Fiora and Pent have been talking recently. They're trying to find the families of the dead Ilian mercenaries now that the war is over so they can try to compensate for their losses. Pent has some nice bling, you know."

"That's honorable," murmured Marcus.

"But it didn't solve anything," Eliwood spoke up. "Now another person is sick. Marcus, Mother…I fear for my people. Whatever this ailment is, it _must _be contained within this castle."

"Ah, a quarantine!" chirped Della. "We'll keep everyone in this castle for three days...and keep the healthy far from the sick. If, at the end of those days, the healthy are still that way…then they will leave."

"Only three more days with Hector, then," said Eliwood with the ghost of a smile.

Della shot him an evil grin. "What makes you think _he _won't get sick?"

"Ah, don't frighten me so!"

"Mmkay, chop chop!" Della exclaimed, ignoring Eliwood and leaping to her feet. "Everybody out now! Like, seriously…I'd give you all Lysol, but you'll just have to take a shower instead. Right now."

Eleanora smiled sorrowfully at her son before Della began gently steering her towards the door. "Milady, it would really suck if you became ill as well. Let's go."

"…Shower…" Lowen said thoughtfully, following the two women and Marcus out the door. "But…I've already taken my yearly bath—"

"Have you taken one for the _Chinese _New Year, then? Yeah, didn't think so, punk."

Eliwood sank into slumber as their voices faded away.

* * *

Meanwhile, Sain (who had been eavesdropping from the other side of the door the entire time) caught up with Della as the troupe of Pheraeans dispersed to disinfect themselves. 

"Why hello, _Ninian_," the green knight teased as he reached her side.

"What?" asked the tactician, giving him an odd look. "What are you talkingabout?"

"Don't pretend you don't know!" Sain pranced around her, trying to be as innocently irritating as he could possibly be. "Obviously Lord Eliwood wanted you to stay with him last night, seeing as you _are _his lover—"

"Maybe it's just me," Della interrupted loftily, "but the last time I checked, I didn't have red eyes and blue hair."

"What?" Sain gasped and put a hand over his heart, feigning shock. "Nonsense! Why would Lord Eliwood be so keen on you if you were just a brown-haired blue-eyed brat?"

Della shot him another strange look. "Are you _high_ on something?"

"I am high indeed…highly anticipating your wedding day, Lady Ninian!" Sain bowed mockingly.

"Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds…" Della sang softly, a grin on her lips, as she quickened her pace. Sain, however, was not going to let her get away so easily.

"I'm not completely in jest," he pressed, leaning on the wall before her and blocking her way. Della merely pushed around him with a sing-song,

"I'm happy! I'm feelin' glad, I got sunshine! In a bag…"

"I'm _serious_!"

"He takes a whisky drink, he takes a vodka drink, he takes a larger drink, he takes a cider drink!—"

Sain leaned on the wall in front of her again, sticking his leg out so that if she took another step she would trip. She glared up and him and sighed huffily.

"Luckily for you, this Catholic ran out of drug songs."

"Has something changed between you and Lord Eliwood?" Sain asked quietly.

"No," Della answered right away. She hesitated, then admitted: "Well…I don't _think _so…I _hope _not…do I?" She stamped her foot. "Don't ask me, _I_ don't know!"

"Well you should find out. And soon."

"Oooh, I've got one!" Della twirled around. "Puff, the magic draaaaagon—"

"Dragon, indeed," Sain retorted smoothly, shooting the tactician a smirk before turning on his heel and striding away. He expected her to run after him and execute a flying tackle, or at the very least yell some insane insult about pineapples at his back…but the tactician did no such thing.

_It's a trick. She's trying to wait until I have my guard down…_

However, Sain made it to the end of the hallway _and _got around the corner without so much as a peep from Della. Now utterly perturbed, the green knight poked his head back around the corner to find that Della was standing right where he'd left her. She just stared quietly into space, her hands balled up into fists by her sides.

_Something is definitely up, _Sain decided as he slunk away.

* * *

Erk gently placed a hand on the heavy oaken door, applying slight pressure. He didn't want to make any noise and disrupt his master. As the door swung open it emitted a loud _creeeeeaak!_, and Erk winced. A very slight groan sounded from within the dark room. 

"Lord Pent?" Erk asked softly.

"Erk?" came the reply. Pent's voice was patient, though tense. "What are you doing here?"

"Nothing, sir. I just came to make sure you were alright."

"You should have left with the others. Can't have you falling ill, you know."

"I could never leave you and Lady Louise," Erk protested. "And I feel fine. How do _you _fare?"

"Oh, this is nothing a little mind-over-matter can't cure." Pent raised himself up on his elbows, squinting against his fierce headache. "It's not the pain that ails me, so much as the boredom."

"I could bring you a book, master."

"No, no, reading makes it worse." Pent sighed in a disgruntled manner. "Louise always warned me about reading too much when my head hurts, but I never heeded her words until today." The sage looked up then, his eyes suddenly clear and alert. "Erk, how is she doing?"

"Fine, sir," Erk assured. "She's had no trace of this illness, though she is quite agitated over your health. She wants to see you very badly."

"No," Pent commanded. "Keep her and the baby away."

Erk smiled slightly—there was only one thing Pent loved as much as learning, and that was Lady Louise. "I will see to it, Lord Pent."

"See that you do. And you should stay clear as well, my student."

Erk smiled again. Being called "student" was almost like Pent calling him "son". "Alright, I shall leave you alone now…do you need anything before I go?"

"I'll be fine."

Erk nodded, closed the squeaky door as quietly as he could, and briskly walked off down the hallway. He was hoping to make it back to his own room and commence reading his book of the hour (although that last 400 page book had taken him _two _hours to get through…)…when out of nowhere he was tackled by a mass of white and purple.

"ERKY!" the pink-haired menace squealed.

Erk moaned, feeling bruises start to form where he had been slammed to the stone floor. "Serra…what are you _doing?" _

"Saying hello to you, of course!" Serra moved away from him and Erk got to his knees with a sigh of relief…before Serra threw her arms around his neck in a strangling hug. "How could I not say hello to the handsome man that looooves me?"

"L-love?" Erk coughed out in shock. "What are you going on about _now?"_

"Don't play coy!" Serra giggled as she tightened her hold on the young sage further. "Priscilla told me how you felt!"

"So how," Erk half-demanded, half-choked, "Do _you _think that _I _love _you _when _I _told _Priscilla_…" His uninterested eyes suddenly flared open in alarm as his mind—always adept at puzzles—finally snapped in a piece of his past.

_"Hmm…let's just say that this person is…a healer. She's very sweet--if a bit…stubborn--but she likes you quite a lot…"Priscilla cleared her throat nervously, fiddling with her gloves. "Erk, we'll keep pretending and say that this healer wants to know how you feel about her." _

_"Well," Erk said softly, "If I have any idea who this healer is…I am sure that any feelings she has for me could easily be dwarfed by those I have for her."_

"YOU?!" Erk cried, wrenching himself away from Serra. The outburst was so sudden that he actually managed to escape, leaving the cleric clutching air and staring at him with her wide, gem-like eyes.

The sage panted for air, one hand at his crushed throat. "You…Priscilla thought…that I meant _you_…!"

"What are you talking about?" Serra asked, her porcelain brow furrowing. "Prissy said that you told her that you liked me! What was there to misinterpret?"

"I never said I liked _you!" _Erk snapped, rising to his feet. "She asked me if I admired a sweet cleric, and I said yes…because I thought she was referring to _herself!" _

"She's not sweet!" Serra shot to her feet as well, folding her arms crossly. "I'm the sweet one! Everyone knows that!"

"Only those in the army that were both blind and deaf," Erk muttered under his breath.

Serra narrowed her eyes at him, knowing that he had insulted her, even though she didn't catch what he had actually said. "Erky. She asked if you liked me. And you said yes. Now, I know that you are modest and shy, but—"

"I am not!" Erk protested, blushing in spite of himself. "Serra, you must understand that you _don't _understand! I did not mean that I love you! And…and…now I can't even love Priscilla, either!"

Serra snorted and turned her face away, as if finding a dust mote on the ceiling _far _more interesting than the boy before her. It was the only way she knew to mask the pain in her heart—and she was desperate to hide such pain. Obviously she was _much _too refined to do a silly thing like get angry.

"I knew it," she said snidely, "I knew that you loved her."

"Not that it did me any good," Erk retorted, reddening further. That large, rather anti-social part of him was rearing to get away from the conversation. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I must—"

"Of course," Serra interrupted, "I knew that she loved Heath from the start. He tried to stay away from her at first, but his feelings were even _more _obvious." She examined her nails and sent a sly glance his way. She opened her mouth to let forth words aimed to hurt, unsheathing a sword that Erk would never see coming: "I'm sorry, but you never had a chance with her."

Apparently Erk could pale just as quickly as he could blush—Serra always did have that talent…she was always able to contort his usually stoic face into something surprised, or exasperated, or angry. Or a mixture of the three.

Apparently Serra's weapon's aim was true—Erk's brows met in irritation, his mouth set in a grim line, his eyes hardened with a flinty glare. However, when he spoke, his words were just as cool and collected as ever:

"Then obviously you could also deduct that you never had a chance with _me_, Serra."

With that he slipped past her and continued down the hallway with long strides, his red cape swirling out behind him. Serra merely stared after him, mouth agape.

For such soft, calm words, they sure hurt badly.

Tears stung Serra's eyes, and she clenched her fists against the writhing tumult inside her before furiously stalking off in the opposite direction Erk had gone.

* * *

_A/N: __**You were BEAT DOWN by Erk…**__err, sorry, I just got a Wii and I'm in a total video game mood ._

_Anyway, chemistry between Hector and Farina is turning out to be a challenge for me (how do two people who argue SO much fall in love?), but I must say that I enjoy it—I simply love challenges . (Oh, and personally, I don't think that Puff the Magic Dragon is really a druggie song…I think it was written by someone naïve, kinda like me Oo, and then taken the wrong way.) (And the other songs Della sings, to give credit, are from "Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds" by the Beatles, "Clint Eastwood" by the Gorillaz, and "Tubthumping" by Chumbawamba.) _

_Well, I'll really try to update soon…please review? Every single one makes my day :-D._


	7. Unwilling

_A/N: Yay, I think I've updated this one rather quickly! Summer is truly a blessed thing…anyway, this chapter is a bit less angsty—perhaps a bit bitter, but at least it's not straight-up angst. More of summer's joys! Well, I hope you enjoy it…_

_**Chapter Seven--Unwilling**_

The illness wasn't what Lyn hated.

Of course, it wasn't that she _enjoyed _the splitting headache or the dizziness that swamped her whenever she tried to stand…it just was not the worst part of the situation, for her. She knew that Hector and Eliwood felt differently—considering that Eliwood's body seemed to be taking the illness harder than hers was, and that Hector couldn't even _think _about a sickness without getting all shaky and irritable—and that the two men probably hadn't even an inkling of the rabid desire she felt: the need to run, to yell, to feel the fresh air on her face and combing through her hair…

The fact of the matter was, Lyn was sick and had to stay indoors. And she absolutely _hated _being indoors.

She sighed and idly smoothed her long, lank ponytail between her fingers. She wished that her bed was outside, at the very least…if she couldn't run, she could at least feel the wind and smell the grass…and perhaps she could just _hold _her sword, if not actually use it, for it's well-used leather-wrapped hilt was always a comfort…

The tactician had assured her that the illness was not deadly, but although Lyn didn't fear death at the hands of a sickness, she was certain that she would catch her death of _boredom. _

"My kingdom for a moment outside on this gorgeous day," she muttered aloud. While Caelin was certainly worth much more than a day outside, Lyn had never wanted the kingdom in the first place. _The sooner I can return to Sacae with Kent, the better…_

"How do you fare, Lyndis?"

Lyn's grumpy mood suddenly evaporated like late morning fog, and her eyes snapped to the doorway at the sound of the familiar voice. They lit upon the man peeking into the room, who had appeared with his usual impeccable timing. His normally thoroughly-combed, fiery hair was disheveled, as if he had been running his fingers through it; his alert amber eyes were now piercing in their concern; his usually stoic brow was creased into lines of worry.

"Kent," she greeted him, smiling softly, "I'm fine."

"Any better than yesterday?" the red knight asked. He entered her room and stood by her bedside, with his back rigid and shoulders straight. Lyn rolled her eyes and wished he would relax for once.

"Yes, as a matter of fact. I am much better than I was when I first caught this malady a couple of days ago. Now sit _down, _before _you _overwork yourself!" That was a command, and Kent obeyed, shooting Lyn a rueful smile as he gingerly seated himself on the edge of her bed. "If things keep on as they are," Lyn continued, "I should be better in another day or two."

"You don't know how happy that makes me, milady," Kent breathed. Lyn was just about to correct him—he had used her title _again!_—but he suddenly slid his fingers under her chin to lift her face, and at his touch Lyn's mouth snapped back shut. He stared into her eyes for a moment, then withdrew his hand as a small smile crossed his lips. "You _do _look better. Color is starting to return to your face."

Lyn grinned at the observation as Kent abruptly averted his eyes, blushing faintly. It seemed he still wasn't accustomed to speaking to her in any way other than to yell "Yes, m'lady!" and snap his heels together. Lyn decided to take pity on her fiancé and asked,

"Do you know how the others are faring?"

Kent looked relieved at the change of subject. "Ah…I know that Fiora is getting better, just as you are. Lord Pent is not recovering because he keeps insisting on studying and is not getting any rest…but his condition has not worsened. Florina and Farina are the same way—no better, but no worse. In fact, I believe Lord Eliwood is the only one whose health is declining."

"Eliwood?" Lyn shot to a sitting position in alarm. Sparkles exploded in her vision and her ears buzzed with the sound of dizziness, so she quickly sank back to the pillow.

"Lyndis," Kent said urgently, putting a steadying hand on her arm. Lyn brushed him away, desperately asking,

"What's the matter with Eliwood?"

"He is alright," Kent murmured to her. "The illness just seems to have a better grip on him than any of the others. Staves are used for wounds, you know, not sicknesses…but the clerics of Pherae have still been in his chambers incessantly for the past two days, giving him every remedy imaginable to try. A few of them have made him even _more _ill. Della is livid, and has been trying to keep them all out…'Your hoopla won't help him!', she said yesterday." The knight smiled as he quoted the tactician: "'Unless you have a PhD and a serious amount of Dayquil, get your uneducated Dark Age hides out of here'!".

"That certainly sounds like Della," said Lyn calmly.

Kent sighed and shook his head. "Yet I can't believe that even _she _would dispose of the kingdom's best healers…"

"Oh, I can." Lyn smiled. "I've known Della longer than any of you, and I trust her. After all…I thought she was mad when she ordered that I had to drink the juice of those strange orange fruits Lowen discovered in the kitchens, but I drank it anyway…and I'm doing better, aren't I?"

"Thank Elimine," Kent muttered.

Lyn smiled warmly. She wanted terribly to reach out and hold the knight's hand, or to stroke his cheek, but she didn't want to risk spreading the illness to him. "I'm going to be patient for a little bit longer…and get better as quickly as possible. Do you know why?"

"Because you are listening to the sensible advice of the man that knows what's best for you?" Kent kidded, if hesitantly.

"Of course not," Lyn snorted. She locked eyes with Kent and let a sly smile creep across her lips. "It's because the sooner I get better…the sooner I can kiss you within an inch of your life."

Kent immediately flushed as red as his armor. He bit his lip, torn between fear and glee, then abruptly turned his face away and coughed delicately into his fist.

"Ahem…I…I think I should go make sure that Sain isn't bothering anybody…"

With that he all but leapt to his feet and fled from the room. Lyn had to stifle a laugh.

_That man is so very fun to tease… _

* * *

It was a beautiful day—on the cusp of summer and fall, the best of both worlds. A cheerful sun and an abundance of sweet-smelling flowers contrasted with a sharp blue sky and a cool wind. Heath listened to the symphony of cheerful birdsongs—all the sound the peaceful world had to offer, besides the soft steps of his and Pricilla's boots swishing through the grass. He did not speak, and neither did she. 

They were in the spacious grounds at the rear of her parent's manor. It was a vast, lush, green field, stretching out for hundreds of yards before becoming swallowed by a dark stretch of trees. Framing the house was a small garden, full of flowers and shrubs and the occasional willow tree. Heath stopped beside a tall bush overflowing with large white flowers and plucked one out, twirling the stem idly between his fingers. He could smell its sweet fragrance without even lifting it to his nose, and he realized what a beautiful thing it was. Its petals were the soft, pure white of the season's first snowfall (_Or of Priscilla's skin, _he thought to himself, absentmindedly). He wondered what he would look like as a plant, compared to Priscilla's holy little flower.

_Probably a thorny vine, _his mind snarled at his heart, _or the three leaves of poison ivy._ Heath turned his bitter gaze to the ground, as unable to look upon the flower as he was to face Priscilla. The healer, however, had other ideas, touching his arm lightly and murmuring, "Heath…"

It took a lot of willpower, but the wyvern rider finally raised his eyes to hers. Those emerald pools peered at him so concernedly, so eager to help…_Why do I feel like hiding from her? She wants to cure me…she's a CLERIC, for Elimine's sake, she's SUPPOSED to cure me…to cure this self-doubt spreading like an infection…_

His reached out one arm and pulled her against him, that one arm embracing her tightly and the other hanging by his side, listlessly holding the flower.

"It's not that they disapprove of you," Priscilla whispered, her cheek against his chest. "They just need to get to know you."

Heath wrapped his other arm around her and buried his face in her hair. He didn't respond other than that—for he was too busy remembering what had occurred a couple of hours before.

When he had met her parents.

She had told him before that she was adopted—she was quite upset when she told him this, if he recalled correctly. It was one evening, just as the sun was setting, a couple of battles since the army had acquired the surly mercenary called Raven. Priscilla was nearly in tears, and when he pressed her to tell what the matter was, she had explained that Raven was her long lost brother…but now that he had distanced himself from his family, and now that she had been adopted by a new one, he would no longer call her his sister. Her eyes that night were the broken mirrors of one whose heart was dashed to pieces—he later gleaned, from additional conversations with her, that in her childhood Raven (or Raymond, as he used to be) was closest to her. He was all she had. And now, she didn't even have him anymore. When she came to that realization she had wept, and Heath suddenly wanted nothing more than to hold her close and ease her pain—that was probably the moment he realized he was falling in love with her.

But as time went on, he had helped to fill the void within her and quell her uncertainties. Priscilla no longer had cause to worry. _Heath, _however, only seemed to get more to worry about.

_He had met her parents on the cobblestone pathway leading to their huge manor house. When Priscilla stepped upon the walkway, a lone alarum sounded, and instantly the Count and Countess of Caerleon rushed out to meet their adopted daughter. They hadn't gotten news from Priscilla throughout the entire journey to defeat Nergal, and they both swept her up into a worried and relieved and joyful embrace…before looking up and catching sight of Heath._

_The ensuing conversation was as awkward as Heath had expected it to be. Count Caerleon—a lean, grey-haired man—had narrowed his eyes, and his wife (a small, delicate woman with dark blonde hair coiled into an intricate bun) had just looked at Priscilla with lines appearing upon her forehead. Priscilla made hasty introductions…making sure to mention to her parents the number of times Heath had protected her in battle, and the strong friendship that had grown between them. All the while Count Caerleon had been appraising Heath with a hawk's eye—exactly as a real father would have done._

_"I thank you for protecting Priscilla," he had said finally._

_Heath had bowed. "No thanks needed, milord. I'd have protected her regardless." _

_The Count's grey eyebrows shot up. He looked displeased, still in that covetous fatherly way. "May I ask, young man, what your occupation is?"_

_Heath bit his lip. What was he supposed to say? Deserter? Traitor? Renegade? "I…I'm a mercenary, my lord." It was a highly unsatisfactory answer, but it was the only one he could give—after all, he could no longer claim to be a soldier of Bern. _

_"Oh?" Yes indeed—Heath could immediately tell that mercenary was NOT a good answer. And yet, after this answer, came an even tougher question: "And what relationship do you claim with Priscilla?" _

_Priscilla glanced at him with wide, nervous eyes. Again, Heath had to pause before answering her father. The best thing to do would be to remain tactful, respectful, subtle…not to go blurting out his feelings like a forward cad. "Well…at first she would just heal me after battles…and we got to be friends…and soon we were GOOD friends, and trusted each other a lot, and…" Heath struggled for words, realizing that he was coming across as an idiot and also realizing that there was no possible way he could poetize their relationship enough to please their parents. He had to say the truth, blunt as it was: "I love her, m'lord."_

_Another bad answer. Heath almost flinched at the scalding look Count Caerleon gave him…although his wife's face, from over his shoulder, softened slightly. _

_"Do you intend to marry her, Heath?" the Count had asked dangerously, grey eyes glittering. _

_Heath met his gaze. Insolent as it may have been, he needed to make the Count understand how serious he was. "Yeah, someday, if fate is kind."_

_If life had been a contest of who could say the worst possible things at the worst possible times, Heath would have won right there, hands down. That was certainly NOT the thing to tell a girl's father…especially not upon meeting him the first time._

_As it was, however, Heath's answers had also been honest and true, a fact that the rulers of Caerleon could not dispute. Priscilla's adopted father had given him one more once-over before spitting out,_

_"You are…welcome here."_

And then an hour or two later he had ended up here, wandering along the grounds, wallowing in doubts and self-consciousness with Priscilla as his only comfort. He inhaled the scent of her hair and closed his eyes, clutching her more tightly to him.

"Did you really mean that, Heath?" she whispered softly.

"Mean what, Pris?" he murmured back.

"That you…you wanted to…marry me?"

Her voice was light, a strange mixture of awe and uncertainty and hope. Heath couldn't help but smile.

"Yeah I meant it. I don't know if I'll be able to go through with it, but…I want to."

"That makes me…so happy…" Priscilla's fingers suddenly dug into his shirt, her breath hitched. Heath's eyes flew open and he peered down at her in concern.

"Priscilla?"

"Y-you don't understand…I'm so happy…I…I've always been alone, always, and I hated it…I _hated _it, Heath!...but now I have you, a-and I feel…I feel…"

"Shh…" Heath whispered, rocking her from side to side. "Don't say any more."

Priscilla fell silent. She just clung to him for a long while, and Heath leaned on her in return.

_She needs me. I know I keep feeling as if I should leave her, walk out of her life and ensure her safety…but I can't leave if she needs me…_

He tried to ignore that soft feeling of foreboding, as insignificant as autumn's first fallen leaf baking in the last golden rays of the summer sun. As he embraced Priscilla, he unknowingly dropped the white flower he had been holding. It floated, unheeded, down to the grass.

* * *

"Well met, my young angel!" Sain cooed, practically flying down the hallway to where Della stood, arms folded, bathed in the slanted column of sunlight streaming in from a large glass window. The tactician's face was blank and her large eyes were glazed—sure signs of either boredom or deep displeasure (or deep displeasure at the fact that she had become bored). 

"'Lo," the tactician mumbled.

Sain sighed and rolled his eyes. "I know _that _face…is something the matter?"

"Nope!" Della finally turned to face him, flashing him a huge smile. "Everything's just dandy!"

It was the smile that did it. Sain raised an eyebrow. "Alright, now I _know _something's wrong. Spill the beans, little beauty."

"What beans?" Della asked innocently. "Green beans? Kidney beans? How about liver beans, if we're going down that direction…or appendix beans? You could eat those, you know, no one needs them because they're vestigial…or, if you were a Regal Moth, they would be mouth beans…"

"That's quite enough mouth out of _you._" Sain put his hands on his hips in irritation, and Della quickly did the same. The two green-clad figures held that pose for a while, glaring at each other, silhouetted by the gigantic window. "Come now, Della…"

"I can't spill anything until I know what to spill," the girl insisted. "How about human beans? Those spill all the time…well, at least _I _do…the other day I spilled some green paint on my grandma, and—"

"Just tell me why you have that look on your face!" Sain pleaded. "Something's the matter…and I want to know what! Because the sooner you cheer up, the sooner you'll tell me which rooms the lovely Pegasus sisters are recovering in, right?"

Della snorted. "NOT! But if you want to know the reason for my mood, I have only one word for you: Eureka."

"What?" the green knight cried. "What kind of answer is that?"

"It means 'I have found it'!" Della snapped. "That's my problem! I've found the answer to why everyone is sick!"

"How is that a problem?" Sain instantly prodded. "That's a _good _thing! Why is this illness within Castle Pherae? Why is it paining the lovely likes of Florina, Fiora, and Farina?"

The tactician dropped her gaze to the floor. "Because…because…now, see here, pathogens are dangerous things…and, er, sometimes they live longer than we think they do…"

"Stop talking nonsense for _once _in your life! Unless this sickness is cured, none of the beautiful women in this castle—with the exception of Serra, of course…oh, and that group of servant girls I saw the other day, because that one with the flaxen hair is _gorgeous_—" Upon seeing Della's glare, Sain abruptly brought himself back on track. "What I mean is, all the women are sick and Kent is too worried about Lady Lyn to talk to me and you're busy brooding now…" He slumped against the wall, flinging an arm theatrically over his eyes. "At this moment, my life has no fun and therefore no purpose!"

"Sain…"

The green knight opened one eye, enough to see the tactician bite her lip and turn her face away. "What is the matter with you?"

"It was…"

"I just asked you a simple question, and now you're acting all strange—"

"That's because it was _me!_" Della cried. Sain jumped back from the wall, cocking his head in confusion, and she lowered her own. "It's…my fault, Sain. I made Eliwood sick. There was this flu going around, now that summer's over and all, and I caught it…I thought I had gotten better, I thought the illness wouldn't follow me into the game, but…I was wrong."

"What game?" Sain demanded. "Why do you keep talking about things no one understands? And…when were _you_ sick, to have given it to Lord Eliwood?"

Della folded her arms uncomfortably. "On the way back from Lord Pent's this summer, I visited home for a little while. It was there that I became ill. By the time I had returned to Pherae, I had recovered…but I guess there was still a strain of the virus living within me. And I accidentally passed it to Eliwood."

"Who gave it to everyone else," Sain finished in a mutter.

"I'm so sorry," said Della in a whisper. "Really, I am…I've caused so much suffering…I think by this point it's demonstrated that even their medieval immune systems could handle my oddly warped flu, but for a while there I was so afraid…what if—"

"Come now, don't talk of such things!" said Sain jovially. "You are such a morbid little maiden." He linked his arm through hers and dragged the sullen tactician off to where he hoped the Pegasus Sisters were recovering.

* * *

Erk was just checking on Lord Pent—asking him if he needed anything, and informing him of the Louise's health (which was perfectly fine)—when heavy booted feet came striding down the corridor towards him. 

"Ah, there you are, Erk."

The young sage turned in Lord Pent's doorway to find himself face-to-face with Oswin. "Oh, hello sir. Do you…need me for something?" He peered up at the Ostian general, searching the man's battle-scarred face for a hint of urgency, but Oswin was just as calm as ever.

"Yes, Erk," Oswin began, "We Ostians remaining at the castle have decided that we should head back home. We leave tomorrow evening—Lord Hector, Serra, Matthew, and myself—but we all were wondering if you would like to come with us. You were in Ostia before the war began…and if you would like to return, you are welcome."

"That is very kind, sir, but I am afraid that I must refuse," Erk told him. It was downright comical—to his mind, anyway—how placid he could make his voice while in actuality, on the inside, he was anything but calm. (_There's no way on Elibe that I'm going back to Ostia where SERRA is!) _"I shall return home with my teacher, Lord Pent. I was only in Ostia in the first place because of a mission he sent me on."

"I understand. I was just making sure that you knew you had an invitation." Oswin nodded in Erk's direction—with perhaps even the ghost of a smile--and went on his way. Erk called after him to give his regards to Lord Hector—_I suppose it's good that politeness is a compulsive habit of mine? _he wondered—before returning his attention to Lord Pent.

"Go," Pent ordered his student, his voice barely above a hoarse whisper.

Erk, usually so quick to understand things, merely blinked in perplexion. "Excuse me?"

"Go with the Ostians," encouraged Pent. He sat up slightly in the bed and attempted to smile. "There are a few spellbooks I would like you to buy for yourself…they are advanced, of course, and therefore rare…but Ostia is renowned for it's wealth. If there's anyplace that you would be able to find these books, it's in Ostia. Besides…" A glimmer of fatherly fondness graced his otherwise dry smile. "You could use a few days off. There's plenty to do in Ostia…you could relax for once, go out and have some fun…"

"B-but I don't want—" Erk tried to say, but Pent would have none of it.

"Really, Erk. You can't stay wrapped up in your studies all the time…it's like Louise is always telling you, it's just not healthy…"

_You're a fine one to talk! _Erk wanted to yell at him. _She chides at you, too, and for the same reason! Please, Master, you must understand…don't make me go! Don't twine my fate closer to Serra's than you already have!_

But of course, no words escaped his grim mouth. Erk merely turned his cold gaze to the floor.

"If that is…what you wish, Lord Pent."

"It is," Pent said firmly. "I shall recover in a day or two…Louise and I will make our way back to Santaruz…and after a week or so we shall send for you. Does that give you enough time to unwind and purchase your new materials?"

"More than enough," Erk muttered.

"Splendid. Now, off with you, my apprentice…you had best find Sir Oswin and tell him you have changed your mind."

With a stiff nod, Erk closed Pent's bedroom door for him and trudged down the corridor, too disappointed to immediately call after the familiar blob of rust-colored armor at the end of the hallway, even though Oswin was still within hearing distance.

_I think St. Elimine must hate me._

* * *

Hector paced around his guest chambers in Castle Pherae, growling now and then under his breath. He didn't _want _to go, he didn't _want _to return to his duties as Marquess of Ostia, he didn't _want _to leave Eliwood and Lyn—and even Farina!--before they were well again…

…of course, he didn't want to fall ill himself, either.

"Am I reduced to this?" he muttered to himself, narrowing his eyes to look upon the sunny world outside his window. "Brave Lord Hector…fighting mages and morphs and mercenaries…only to turn tail and flee from an enemy he can't even see?"

"It _is_ rather pathetic," a voice agreed lightly from the doorway.

Hector pivoted on his heel to find Matthew leaning in the doorway, his familiar impish smirk plastered across his face.

"Well?" Hector demanded. "Are you going to keep taunting me? Or are you just going to stand there and grin like an idiot?"

"The latter," Matthew replied smoothly. Hector turned away in disgust to look out the window again, which meant he didn't notice his spy's face softening. "Don't beat yourself up, milord—Lord Eliwood could do that for you, once he is feeling better…and besides, it was Oswin's idea that we leave, not yours."

"But I didn't disagree with him," Hector murmured. There were two kinds of people that he hated more than anything: cowards, and hypocrites. At the moment, Hector felt that he was being both…and that made him feel filthy.

"My lord, everyone is afraid of _something. _You're not to blame."

"But I feel as if I'm abandoning some kind of duty." Hector unconsciously clenched his fists at his sides. "I mean, how could I walk out on my friends like this? Well, sure, Eliwood has Della to look after him, and Lyn has Kent and Sain, but…what about the others?"

"What others, milord?" Matthew asked innocently, though he knew what Hector was going to say before the marquess even uttered it.

"I dunno…like…Farina, I guess."

Matthew raised his eyebrows. "Oh?"

"Yeah." Hector was still staring moodily out the window. "Both of her sisters are sick. If I go, who's going to…you know…look after her?"

"I highly doubt she needs looking after," Matthew muttered under his breath, but Hector didn't seem to hear him. He just continued to stare out into the golden sunlight of the day, into the dying breath of summer, wondering why the thought of leaving Farina alone made him suddenly cold deep inside.

* * *

_A/N: Silly Hector…like almost all men, he is completely oblivious. Well, I don't have too much to say…though I am rather proud of the scene on Heath and Priscilla's side of the plot…I was having a bit of an impasse and didn't know what to write, but I forced myself to sit down and write SOMETHING…and luckily for me, I began waxing poetic. Huzzah. I just hope I got the general picture right...I mean, how am I supposed to know anything about Priscilla's parents? Hmmm. (Ah yes...and when Della is ranting about beans...the reason she says "mouth beans" is because she gets on a tangent about vestigial things...and her newest Fun Fact is that Regal Moths actually do not eat--their mouths are unnecessary, and they therefore die a week after reaching maturity, since all they need to do is mate before their little circle of life is complete. Just to clear things up.)_

_In the immortal words of Forrest Gump: "And that's all I got to say about that". Please review if you can…as I've said many times before, each one—especially on a story like this one—makes my day bunches brighter. :)_


	8. Change

_A/N: Look, I'm alive! (No, really, I swear!) It takes more than marching band to kill a Jedi Master, after all…(though school just might do the trick). Anyway…I want to apologize profusely for making you guys wait so long for new chapters—and not just for this, for ALL my stories. Really, I'm so sorry. I'll try to write faster, but in the meantime…I think it'll be easier for me to put most of my stories on a temporary hold. So I'll just plow right on with THIS story to get you more and faster, which means less of Huzzah! and Tally-Ho and such until I'm done (unless inspiration beats me up again, of course, which isn't unlikely). I hope that's okay…anyway, on with the chapter. _

_**Chapter Eight--Change**_

It didn't make sense.

This is what Marcus decided as he strode purposefully down the main corridor of Castle Pherae. It was strange, how Florina and Fiora had been awake more often, and how Lord Pent's headaches had begun to subside, and how Lady Lyndis didn't get dizzy when she sat up anymore…and how, meanwhile, Lord Eliwood managed only to worsen day by day.

It didn't make sense. And it wouldn't make sense, Marcus knew, until he talked to the only person who could act sensible surrounded by nonsense.

Although Marcus often doubted that this person actually had an ounce of sense to her name.

He finally spotted her as she entered the main hallway from the kitchens, slipping a handful of sweets into her pocket. Marcus lengthened his stride, calling out "Lady Della!", and she turned in surprise. Doubtlessly it had been quite a while since anyone had used a title with her name…the war, in which she had been the Master Tactician, seemed so long ago. Likewise, the pain the war had inflicted had faded, as if the summer sun had bleached it out of the army's hardened and wintry hearts. Summer was indeed a blessed thing—Marcus felt a flicker of sorrow when he realized that it was coming to a close.

"Hiiii Marcus!" Della exclaimed when she recognized him. "How have you been?"

"Well. And yourself?"

While the two exchanged the usual greetings and formalities, Marcus knew that she knew he was there for a reason. He might even have known that _she_ knew that he knew that she knew. So he decided to get to the point.

"Lady…" he began slowly, "I know that as a General, it is not my business to ask…however, as a _friend_, I shall take the liberty." Marcus kept his gaze on hers, noting with some surprise that she was the first to look away. "Why is it that this illness has gripped Lord Eliwood more severely than anyone else?"

Della's eyes—previously on the floor—shot back to Marcus', filled with a helpless anger. "Because that idiot won't just _listen _to me and learn how to flippin' CHILL for once! Jeez!"

Marcus calmly raised an eyebrow. Della chuckled sheepishly and sank into a curtsey.

"W-what I mean is, our beloved Lord Eliwood does not heed my advice. He overworks himself. It is much easier to become ill when one is tired and stressed…" She smirked and dryly added, "Trust me on this one."

Marcus sighed and passed a hand through his cropped purple hair. "That makes sense. I understand. He never was one to take time to rest…"

"Well he really needs to! And I kept telling him that! And he didn't listen! And his immune system went all 'system shut-down' like a bad sci-fi PC game! Because he didn't pay attention to the one who actually knows what a virus is, _oh _no—"

"Lady Della…" Marcus asked in little more than a mutter, "Might there be a cure you know of? Any remedy, no matter how small? I am not Lord Elbert, but when I look upon his face, I cannot help but feel a pain myself…from a father's point of view, his suffering has grown unbearable."

"No!" Della cried, yanking at her hair. "Don't say one more word about 'unbearable suffering'! I've written two webs, a summary, three essay questions, two actual essays, a peer review, and a scientific paper about _euthanasia_, and the last thing I want to hear about is more unbearable suffering and the bajagazillion opinions on how to end it!"

"Youth in Asia?" Marcus asked, blinking.

"Never mind." Della shook her head, as if to clear it, and waved her hand in the General's direction. "Anyway…I haven't been in to see Eliwood these past couple days, I was checking up on everyone else. I didn't know things had gotten so bad for him…" This time, when her eyes flickered up to Marcus' face, he saw worry and sorrow swirling through them. "But I might have an answer, Marcus. There is a medicine from my homeland—one that does not heal, but is a powerful pain-reliever. If you'd like, I will give it to him…despite the consequences."

For now, Marcus agreed—Elimine curse the consequences (whatever _those _might have been). He would deal with them later, like a row of archers at the end of a battlefield—their threats eminent, but unable to be fought right away. For now, it was best to fight in the main fray…to fight Lord Eliwood's pain. Marcus sank to one knee before the tactician and murmured, "Thank you, m'lady."

"Stop that." Della crossed her arms and turned away, as if unable to bear the sight of such reverence. "I'd have given him the medicine soon anyway, you know that."

"Aye." Marcus rose again. Since no more needed to be said, he gave a quick farewell and strode away.

* * *

Priscilla sighed delicately before sinking down into her cushioned window seat. She gazed listlessly through the glass window, as if she could see Heath's restless gait below, though she knew that when he took those mind-clearing walks of his he took them on the other side of the castle—far out of her view. She wished he would calm down some…her stepfather had given his (extremely grudging) permission for Heath to court her (though he had not said anything regarding marriage—which was probably for the best, since it might make his poor fatherly heart stop). Her stepmother, on the other hand, had instantly cooed her approval into Priscilla's ear once they had a moment away from the men—commending her stepdaughter on finding such a tall, quiet, handsome young man. 

Given time, she knew that both her step-parents would come to cherish Heath as dearly as she did. So…why did Heath have such a hard time believing that? He spent most of his time out on the grounds, pacing around as if he were trying to burn up all his anxiety. Priscilla had tried to talk to him, and although he wasn't ever short with her, he was never _open_…he never shared what was on his mind. He had started killing every conversation Priscilla tried to initiate, preferring instead to communicate through kisses and embraces and long silences where he stared into her eyes. And although Priscilla hardly minded any of that, she still couldn't help but feel a pain deep inside…she couldn't help but feel that she was being shut out.

_Why won't he tell me what the matter is?_

And, on top of all that, Priscilla felt a lurking guilt rising up into her heart: Erk. Right before she and Heath had left for Caerleon, he had told her that he loved her. Point-blank. She knew that someone like Erk would never kid around about such a thing…and that he would never admit to feeling such a thing unless he had seriously considered his emotions—and for quite some time.

It wasn't her fault that he fell for her, she tried to tell herself. Could anyone really blame her for being so friendly with Erk—seeing as they were _friends? _And good ones, at that?

Ah, but the pain in his eyes had been so intense when she had turned away from him…

_Are we even friends anymore? _Priscilla wondered. _Now that I've turned him down, I can hardly imagine that he'll want anything to do with me. _Again, a pang of pain hit her in the middle of the chest. _I certainly hope our friendship won't be damaged by this. Erk is too valuable to me—kind, caring, sensible, a good listener…why, he was the first man I let myself get close to, ever since Raymond left. And I can't stand knowing that I have hurt him, no matter how unintentionally. _

Suddenly a smile dawned upon Priscilla's face--and with it, came an idea.

* * *

"Alright." 

Hector heaved a sigh, then forced himself to leave his room. He wanted more than anything to stay—Castle Pherae had essentially been his second home since he was twelve years old—and yet something urged him to leave…a primal fear tugging at him…

As Hector walked down the corridor, empty-handed (servants had already taken his luggage down to a carriage waiting outside), he passed a rather frazzled Matthew. The usually easygoing thief always became stressed whenever packing or organizing was on the agenda—he hated such things, and preferred to wing whatever he did. It was a preference that Hector secretly shared, although—as Marquess—he really had no say in the matter.

"So, have you said your goodbyes, my lord?" Matthew managed to ask somewhat cheerfully, though he raked his fingers through his already tousled hair as he did so.

Hector shrugged. "To Eliwood."

"Nobody else?" Matthew was surprised—but not very much. "Lord Hector, you have to think of _protocol! _You're the Marquess now, not The Marquess' Little Brother! You have to be _polite!" _

Hector winced slightly at the trifold mentions of Uther, duty, and manners. "So who else do I have to say goodbye to?"

"Hmm." Matthew pretended to think. "How about…everyone that you've said _hello _to!"

"That would take forever!" Hector gasped.

"Then I suggest you get started, m'lord, because we're leaving in an hour." With a breezy smile, Matthew sprinted on his way—though rather faster than usual. He was the only one who could speak to Hector in such a blunt manner and get away with it, but he also knew that Hector did _not _like how…well, how he always got away with it. Though a man could hardly be blamed for doing his job, if he did say so himself.

Cursing the thief under his breath, Hector grudgingly went on his way to say goodbye to the rest of his friends. In truth, he hated goodbyes—they were rather pointless, considering it wasn't as if he would never see anyone again…and those rare occasions when goodbyes made him sad (such as when he bid farewell to his closer friends), the looks of politely held-back sorrow on their faces made him wish he'd just left abruptly, as he was going to in the first place. He didn't want to remember the crestfallen look on Lyn's face that she wasn't well enough to leave her room and give him a proper sendoff, or the terror in Della's eyes when she realized that her largest teasing target was leaving (although Hector decided that the boredom that would ensue for the tactician after his departure would be his revenge), or the way Florina couldn't even look at him because when she tried to say farewell she realized that she was wearing her nightgown and stuck in her bed, and thus immediately turned bright red and began to stutter so badly that she couldn't get her sentence out. Hector didn't want to remember those images of his friends—why couldn't he have just left with their smiles in his mind's eye?

_Manners, manners, _he growled to himself, just barely able to keep himself on track. Because, of course, he had already said goodbye to everybody in the castle. Everybody…except one.

And now he stood outside Farina's door, trying to muster up the courage to enter. Honestly, his conscience wouldn't have bothered him at all had he chosen to just turn tail and leave without a word…however, something else pulled at him, propelling him towards the room. An ache blossomed in his chest, which he assumed was guilt. So, with a deep breath, he pushed open the wooden door to Farina's room.

Upon seeing her stretched fitfully out beneath the coverlet, her blue hair lank on the pillow and her usually bright eyes dull, the ache in his chest only grew. _Stupid guilt! I didn't know it grew if you did the RIGHT thing…not that I feel guilty much…but I get the feeling that this isn't supposed to happen. So…what AM I feeling, then?_

"I suppose you're leaving now, m'lord?" she asked lazily.

Hector blinked. "Yeah. How did you know?"

"Magic," was the lofty reply.

"You're no mage!" Hector snapped. "Tell me the truth!"

Farina scowled and rolled her eyes. "I could see them loading your carriage out the window. Duh."

Hector grunted his irritation at her impudence, but otherwise fell silent. If she was going to be rude, she wasn't going to get any goodbye out of _him!_

"So," Farina ventured casually after a moment, "Why are you here?"

"Trying to be polite," Hector forced out through clenched teeth.

The Pegasus rider snorted. "Really? Well, you're doing a lovely job."

"You're not so polite, yourself!"

"If these are to be my last few hours, I'll spend them talking however I please," Farina retorted.

"Last few hours?" Hector was baffled. "What are you talking about? It's not like you're going to _die._"

"I might!" Farina retorted, abruptly sitting up. Fire returned to her eyes.

"That's ridiculous!"

"Is not!"

"Is too!"

"Is NOT!"

"It's impossible!"

"No it isn't!"

"You're just being difficult—"

"If it happened to my mam, it could happen to me!" Farina cried hotly.

Hector froze, feeling his brow knit. "…What?"

"M-my…my mother…" Farina lowered her usually brash gaze to her hands. "No, never mind, it's nothing."

"I order you to tell me," Hector declared, for once feeling a bit better about the fact that he was a lord. _It's not ALWAYS about manners._

Farina glared up at him through her bangs. For a moment he expected her to refuse him, until her eyes suddenly took on a defiant gleam. "You really want to know?"

"Yeah."

"Well…" Farina's eyes dropped back to her lap, her voice softened. "She was sick for a long time. And…she had started to get better…my sisters and I were all very happy…father had left by this time, you know, since mother didn't approve of his drinking, and—"

Farina chanced a glance at Hector to find a rather unsettled look on his face. She instantly blushed, ashamed that she had revealed so much accidentally, and continued quickly. "A-anyway, my lord, we thought mam was going to recover. But one day the illness struck again, worse than before. She died within three days."

She tried hard to keep her voice steady, and she thought she did a pretty good job. But the way Hector's face tightened in the doorway showed her that she might not have sounded as strong as she had intended to.

"Are you frightened?" he asked quietly.

"No!" snapped Farina, perhaps too quickly. "I just…I just wonder…what if I don't get better?"

"Don't be stupid," Hector growled. "Of course you will."

The sharpness of his voice brought Farina back to her senses—she was already being far too open with him. It was strange, actually…why was it so easy to stay guarded around even her sisters, yet Hector's presence made her feelings come spilling out of her? It was, frankly, ridiculous. And to mask her uncertainness, Farina gave a haughty sniff. "Well, when I die, the fact that you gave no comfort to the ill will rest on _your _soul."

"You're not going to die! Stop being overdramatic!"

"I'm not!" Farina said loudly.

"Fine! If you want to be an idiot, then that's just…well, FINE!" Now disgruntled and quite out of words to say (he hated words), Hector turned to stomp away.Farina felt panic rise in her throat. _H-he's leaving me?_

"Hector, wait!" she called hoarsely. The lord turned, the sour look he usually saved for her melting into one of surprise.

"_Hector"…She said my name? With no title before it? As if she thinks of me as…a person, and not just a noble?_

"…Yeah?" he asked slowly. Farina just clutched at her blanket, and stared up at him with wide eyes.

"Wait," she whispered. Her voice sounded very small. "Please...this illness…"

"What about it?" Hector tried not to let any concern creep into his voice, though some icy hand was stroking his heart. He fought the urge to shiver, to worry.

"I'm…" Farina looked down at her hands. "Aww…blast it, Lord Hector, you were right…you were so right...I…I'm…"

Her lower lip quivered as she fought to form the words, and Hector noticed that her eyes were suddenly rimmed with red. "So…" he guessed softly, "You're actually…scared?"

For a moment Farina said nothing, gripping her blanket tightly and quaking with suppressed emotion. Finally she closed her eyes and wailed, "I _am!"_

Hector was paralyzed. Did Farina just say that? Did _Farina…_just _say_ that? The most stubborn, hard-headed, tomboyish, penny-pinching wench on all of Elibe had just…admitted that she was afraid?

Farina felt a tear squeeze out from beneath her tightly shut eyelids, and quickly turned her face away. _Elimine, I'm pathetic. Why did I ever bother calling him back? Now all I want is for him to leave!_

"Farina," Hector said softly, rather afraid to be loud. He knew why Farina had suddenly decided to stop looking at him—he used to do the same thing as a boy, when he didn't want Uther to know that one of his well-placed jibes had hurt his feelings. What he did _not _know, however, was how to react around a distressed female. He had heard such things were quite dangerous. "Look, it's gonna be okay—"

"You don't know that! What if what happened to my mother happens to me? What if I relapse? What if it happens to Florina, or Fiora?" Farina's voice was growing steadily more hysterical. "And how come they aren't as scared as I am? You don't understand—I'm not scared of anything! I never have been! And this stupid situation, this _momentary_, _common_, _insignificant _thing…it has me terrified!"

"But…that's alright," Hector managed to choke out, causing Farina to look back up at him. Only one tear had found its way down her cheek, though her eyes were flooded with them. "Farina, it's okay. I…well, I'm scared, too."

Upon hearing that it was as if a dam had burst inside of her—she wasn't alone, she _wasn't_ weak, not if Hector felt the same way…and such a realization smashed through all her defenses. Before she could stop herself, Farina burst into tears.

Once more Hector was frozen in the doorway, shock numbing his limbs. Farina couldn't cry—otherwise she wouldn't be _Farina! _The world would be upside down, everything topsy-turvy, people floating to the moon…it was positively _impossible! _And yet here it was, happening: nonsense.

Hector couldn't stand it.

Forgetting why he was in the doorway, forgetting why Farina was bedridden, forgetting why he was leaving Castle Pherae in the first place; Hector crossed the threshold, tore across the room to the bed, fell to his knees and put his arms around her. He held her tightly against him, willing her tears to stop so that the world could be normal and right again, and Farina gave a hiccup of surprise. It was like the room had ceased to be there—all that existed was the strong, warm embrace…_Hector's _embrace. Which meant that the world was upside down and everything was topsy-turvy and people were floating to the moon.

Farina found herself not caring. She cried into his chest, her fingers fisting into the material of his royal-blue tunic, because he was real and solid and _there. _He was proof that she wasn't a coward, and that she wasn't all by herself, either.

Of course, Farina was entirely unused to weeping in such a manner, and after a moment she quickly brought herself back to her senses. Drying her eyes with the back of her wrist, she pulled away from Hector and ducked her head.

"Sorry," she mumbled.

"Don't mention it."

There was a silence—an awkward one—yet Farina felt much better than she did before Hector's impromptu visit. Even Hector had to admit to himself that there was something gratifying in making Farina feel better…despite how tough she always acted, she had felt disturbingly small and frail within his arms. Now that her tears had stopped he felt a small glow spark within him—just a little light, cheerful and warm. He began to understand why Eliwood was always running around trying to help people.

"So," Hector said finally, taking a deep breath and getting to his feet. "I need to leave now…but…well, stop worrying, alright?"

"Sure," Farina agreed, though rather patronizingly. Hector turned his back on her and crossed the room to the doorway—but once he was there, he paused and turned back, a smirk upon his lips.

"Oh, and Farina? Just in case, I have an order for you…" Farina cocked her head and his smirk widened as he told her, "Don't die."

"Sure thing," the Pegasus Rider retorted sarcastically.

"Good. Because if you do…I'll kill you."

That was all that needed to be said. Hector left the room and shut the door behind him, as the golden light within him began to fade away.

It wasn't until later, standing outside Castle Pherae as a hassled Matthew tried to shove the last of the luggage onto the carriage and a relaxed Oswin tried to calm the spy and a stone-cold duet of Serra and Erk gave each other wide berths and exchanged frosty glares, did Hector realize that Farina had broken down like that because she had thought she was alone in fighting her greatest fear—death.

He also realized, with a jolt, that to comfort her he had gone into the same room as his _own _deepest fear.

* * *

The carriage ride back was absolutely _abysmal. _

Although, "abysmal" wasn't quite the word that Serra had chosen to use. Rather, by the time the cramped carriage she shared with Matthew and Erk had left the boundaries of Pherae (honestly, why couldn't she ride in the Royal carriage with Hector and Oswin, hmm? They both certainly needed something gorgeous—such as herself—to look at, after hours of staring out the windows), the words running across her mind were "icky stinky yucky blecky carriage rides are so booooooring!"

"Are we there yet?" she whined.

A muscle worked in Matthew's jaw, and Erk pinched the bridge of his nose before hissing, "I swear to the Saint that if you ask me that _one more time_—"

"It's not my fault if you're grumpy," Serra replied with a scowl. "You shouldn't take it out on _me."_

Erk fixed his piercing gaze on hers. "It's not my fault if you're annoying…so don't take that out on me, either!"

Serra clenched her teeth and looked away. Although he had always been terse with her, Erk had always been polite—if in an impatient sort of way. But now, after their row in the hallway about how Erk had never had a hope to win Priscilla (and how Serra had never had a hope to win Erk—though that was a gigantic lie, of course), he had been making no efforts to hide what he thought about her.

_No wonder men don't ever talk about their feelings. All that they feel is crude and cruel. _Though Serra tried to forget Erk's sudden change in attitude towards her—he was, after all, a mere peasant, whereas she was destined to be royalty someday—she couldn't help but feel a twinge of bitter regret, deep inside. Before, she had imagined herself and Erk to be friends. Before, he was civil, and his voice was soft instead of sharp, and whenever Serra stared at him (but only for lack of anything better to do, of course) he would continue to endearingly absorb himself in whatever book he was reading rather than looking up to meet her eyes with a malicious stare.

But that was before, Serra admitted with a gusty sigh. She had better not dwell on such things—no matter _how _badly it hurt to see her gentle Erk hate her this way. There was nothing more to be said about the matter.

Well, alright, there was one more thing:

"…Are we there yet _now_?"

"Serra!" exclaimed Erk in exasperation.

"I have _had _it!" Matthew growled at the same time. The next thing Serra knew, he had grabbed the top of the carriage window and swung himself out of it—and out of sight.

"MATTHEW!" Serra shrieked, overcome with worry at such a stupid deed.

"Calm down," Erk told her irritably. "He's on the roof."

"That's a foolish thing to do," the cleric retorted primly, folding her hands in her lap as if she hadn't been screaming with her head stuck out the window a mere second ago.

Erk shrugged slightly and returned to his book. To make the time pass faster Serra tried to think about how handsome Hector must look decked in his royal garments for his return back to Ostia, or how attractive Matthew would be up on the roof with the wind blowing through his sandy hair…except her imagination kept turning Hector's embroidered cape into a simple red one, and Matthew's golden locks into purple.

Ah, well. Thinking was overrated, anyway.

* * *

_A/N: Erk seems the sort to hold a grudge, wouldn't you agree? Normally I'd say that he's always too in-control of his emotions to let himself get that far, but Serra is quite an exception by this point._

_Oh, and to finally explain my plot twist…you know the illness going around in this story? It's based on two illnesses I've had before—both extremely random. One is from the summer when I woke up one day with pretty much every flu symptom (and more), and my mom took me to the doctor, and the blood test showed that my white blood cell count had skyrocketed to combat whatever was making me so sick. I got better the very next day. The other illness is from the morning I woke up and was dizzier than usual (don't you all get vertigo when you first stand up? I know I'm not the only one…), and then totally collapsed when I was trying to walk. –Boom-, I just hit the floor, and the room kept spinning (laughs). I didn't have to go to school that day xD. SO! There we have it, a mutant illness just to add chaos. Since I dearly love that sort of thing. It's one of those plot twists that just HAPPENS, and before you know it you're running to catch up with the story and worrying that it won't all work out. (I'm lucky it did, eh?)_

_Alright, Kender out…please review? I sense that the Force is strong within you. I trust that you can handle letting me know how I'm doing. (Eliwood: "Join the Dark Side, we have cookies!")_


	9. Heal

_A/N: Howdy, y'all. I've been working pretty hard to get this chapter up, but luckily for me it all came to me pretty easily. So! There's quite a lot of stuff in here—eleven pages, I believe? _

_Now, I suppose I should answer a question up here, since Peter is a silly person who doesn't have a FF account so I can't reply directly (just kidding xD)…apparently I didn't make it clear enough whether the illness was natural or unnatural, and it's story significance. Basically…the illness is both natural AND unnatural—because it's a variation of a common cold strain in Della's world, but obviously a frighteningly evolved disease in Eliwood's world. The story significance is a bit beyond me at the moment (my stories tend to write themselves…is that a bad thing?)…but I'm sure it'll reveal itself eventually. Never fear!_

_Sorry for the confusion, and…I hope you enjoy the chapter!_

_**Chapter Nine—Heal**_

"Eliwood!" a cheerful voice called from the doorway.

Eliwood opened his eyes, previously closed as a defense against his fierce headache, to find Lyn walking into his room. "Lyndis?" he murmured cordially, too afraid that speaking any louder would make his head pound harder. "Why are you out of bed?"

"Because I'm cured!" Lyn threw her arms up into the air, as carefree as she always was. "The clerics here pronounced me completely better, and I couldn't be any happier. So…I've decided to make my rounds today and see what I missed while I was bedridden."

"Not much, I'm sure," Eliwood mumbled. He knew it would be rude to close his eyes again, but he couldn't stop himself from sinking deeper into his pillow.

"How are you feeling?" Lyn's voice was suddenly full of concern.

"No worse than yesterday…" Which was a lie, of course. The cheerful sunlight flooding his room was all that kept him from sinking back into a hazy sleep.

"Oh Eliwood, you look _awful._" Lyn seated herself on the edge of his bed and took his hand in hers. "Too thin, too clammy, too pale…"

"Too jealous," the lord added with a weak smile for his dear friend. "Why were you so much faster to recover than I? You're just the picture of health, now."

"Huzzah," Lyn chirped with a grin.

Now Eliwood _did _close his eyes, as the word triggered a memory of a green-clad girl spouting off an (extremely long) list of her favorite words. "…You've seen Della recently."

"Just a moment ago, actually," Lyn admitted with a laugh. "She has a bit of a surprise for you…"

"Dear Elimine."

"No, no, it's a good thing. She feels awful about not being able to see you these past couple of days…Marcus told her that you haven't been getting better, and you know Della…" Lyn rolled her eyes. "Now she's bent on fixing the problem."

Eliwood was about to retort when Sain rushed by the door, looking quite conspicuously eager.

"Hey!" Lyn yelled after his fleeting form. "Where are you going?"

Sain stuck his head into the room to meet Lyn's gaze, biting his lip nervously. "Er…to make sure that Florina is…not dead?"

"Not without me, you aren't," Lyn growled. She squeezed Eliwood's hand and gave him a reassuring smile before bolting out the door after Sain.

Eliwood wasn't sure how much time had passed after Lyn left—it could have been hours, or mere minutes. The fever fogged his brain, making him unaware of anything but the soft sheets covering him and the sunlight that told his body not to sleep…not just yet…he lay there in a daze until his tactician—with a bottle clutched in one hand--appeared in the doorway to snap him out of it.

Eliwood felt even sicker than he already was as Della entered his room—his stomach flopped over with joy, and a wave of guilt gripped him in response. He could remember so vividly the morning after he fell ill, how _sure _he had been before he had opened his eyes that Della was actually a dragon…

_How, _he wondered grimly, _could she ever have reminded me of Ninian? No matter HOW delirious I was?_

It was simply absurd. The girl who almost dropped the glass bottle in her hand when she tried to open it, the girl who made a ridiculous face once she got the top off and caught a whiff of whatever was inside, the girl who looked around wildly for the tiny cup that was on the nightstand _right in front of her_ was nothing like the graceful and passive Ninian. Instead of long, straight, ice-blue hair that fell past her hips, Della's chestnut-brown hair rippled in puffy waves and hardly passed her shoulders. Her eyes weren't a striking and crystalline red, they were a clear blue. And her manner wasn't elegant or ethereal…it was actually rather awkward.

And yet…_and yet…_

They were both tall and long-legged, both slenderly built. They both did strange things, and knew of stranger customs. And, despite the difference in color, Eliwood had to admit that they both had the same eyes—large, bright, inquisitive, and often blank…as if they were shielding themselves, their thoughts, from everything else. And though she rarely seemed unhappy, Della's eyes were sometimes full of a loneliness, a melancholic wisdom, just as Ninian's used to be.

It was if she could see a whole different world through those eyes.

"Here you go!" Della chirped, breaking Eliwood out of his reverie. She seated herself on the edge of his bed as her lips pulling into a rather scholarly half-smile. "In my possession—and about to enter your body—is a substance from my homeland. We use it on people who are ill to make them feel better. It's a nasty thing—I avoid it when I can—but obviously it works. Since everyone is starting to worry about your health, I have agreed to give you a dosage to ease your symptoms. I don't know what the consequences of putting something this foreign in your system will be, but they shouldn't be _all _that bad."

Eliwood nodded solemnly. "I understand…er, I think."

"And this is not going to cure you," Della warned. "It will merely relieve your symptoms so that you _feel _better until you _are _better."

"That would still be a blessing," Eliwood breathed.

His tactician chuckled darkly. "See if you can say the same _after _you taste this stuff." She held out a small crucible, filled nearly to the brim with a syrupy red liquid. Eliwood hesitantly took it from her hand and stared into it, watching the light reflect off of the medicine.

"It glows like a ruby," he observed.

"Don't analyze it, just drink it!" Della snapped. Eliwood quickly raised the cup to his mouth, yet found himself unable to drink—a strange smell had reached his nostrils; the sickly sweet smell of overripe cherries, and beneath that, a strong and strange scent that made him want to recoil.

"Don't hesitate!" Della urged. "It's like ripping a band-aid off! Just plug and chug, dude!"

Eliwood assumed that meant "drink", so he tried not to grimace and tipped the liquid into his mouth. It burned like fire as it passed down his throat, and the inside of his mouth was overwhelmed with a taste more bitter than anything he had ever known. He coughed and sputtered, but Della had no sympathy—she merely plucked the small cup from his hands and examined it to see if he drank it all.

"There," she murmured softly, once satisfied. "Good boy." She patted his head in a mockingly mothering fashion, but before she could remove her hand Eliwood seized it and held it against his cheek. Her hands were usually cold, he knew, and this time was no different--against his fevered skin the sensation of her chilled fingers helped ease the pain…or was that the bitter medicine working? As if guessing his thoughts, Della placed her other hand on the other side of his face, and Eliwood closed his eyes happily at the cool touch.

"I'm going to tell you what might happen," the tactician whispered. "If the illness was ten times stronger in your body than in mine, the medicine probably will be, as well. Therefore, you're going to experience a short period of extreme delirium—perhaps even an energy burst—before completely crashing. The problem is, I didn't have any Dayquil, so I gave you Nyquil, even though it is clearly…well, day. So. Once you've crashed, you'll be completely dead to the world until at least tomorrow."

"Crashed?" Eliwood asked, with a touch of worry. "Dead?"

Della laughed. "Oh, don't worry, Eliwood…it's a simple over-the-counter medication."

She had absentmindedly started to stroke his face. Eliwood found himself forgetting about the awful taste lingering in his mouth.

* * *

Lyn yawned as she entered her room, hoping to catch a nap. She was thrilled that she was healed, of course—and even more thrilled that Florina was well enough to be getting out of bed—but the illness still left a lingering farewell. Her body was tired, and a bit achy, as if warning her not to overexert herself. A mid-afternoon nap would be a great idea, she had decided, but no sooner did she stretch out onto her bed then a visitor arrived.

"Lyndis?" Kent asked eagerly, poking his head around the doorpost. "I had heard…Sain told me…he said that you were feeling better, and I—"

Lyn's warm smile cut him off. He felt his breath catch as he saw her sit up, once more the picture of health. _I had nearly forgotten how she seemed to glow…_

"Kent," she said, her voice laden with joy. "How are you today?"

Kent seated himself on the side of her bed. "I'm fine…and quite lucky that I escaped this illness altogether. My mother always did say the gods protected me from such things…"

"You don't strike me as the type to fall ill easily," Lyn agreed.

Kent smiled wryly. "Had you asked me two weeks ago, I would have said the same of you." He stared into her liquid green eyes for a moment before daring to ask, "So, you are truly better?"

Lyn stretched and swung her legs off the edge of the bed so she could sit beside her fiancé. "Yes! I am completely well again!"

"That's wonderful." Kent breathed a sigh of relief, one of his hands sliding up her cheek. "All this time there's been something I've wanted to do, but I could not because you were ill…"

"And what was that?" Lyn asked in perplexion. She didn't have to wait long for an answer—Kent promptly leaned forward to kiss her, fiercely and warmly.

After a slight noise of surprise, Lyn leaned into the kiss as Kent cupped her face in one hand and wrapped his other arm around her. After quite a long moment of bliss Kent decided he had better break away, but Lyn hadn't felt him move more than a fraction of an inch before she decided she had other ideas. Her hands, which had been resting on his shoulders, wrapped tightly around his neck as she pressed her body against his—after all they had been through to even _look _at each other in a loving manner, she felt that any space between them was too much space. Kent gasped slightly when the sudden close contact sent a red-hot thrill racing through his limbs…and before he could stop himself he had leaned forward until he was lying down with Lyn beneath him, propped up on her mountain of pillows. The heat in his veins dictated his movements like a puppeteer with a marionette, reveling in every touch, craving _more_. Deepening the kiss, Kent lowered his hand and lightly brushed his fingers against her leg, left bare by the long slits in her skirt. At his touch, Lyn buried her fingers into his fiery hair and breathed his name against his lips…

That sound brought Kent hurtling back to reality with enough force to hurt. He tore himself away from Lyn and jumped back so far that his back pressed against the stone wall of the room. He was gasping for air, both from the kiss and from the shock that he had actually been so _forward_…Lyn also had lost her breath, and still lay sprawled on the bed with her hair disheveled and her eyes wide with surprise.

"I'm…oh, please…please forgive me," Kent finally forced out hoarsely. "I went…much too far—"

"That's alright," Lyn replied, heaving herself back up to a sitting position. "It's my fault…I shouldn't have pushed you…"

"No," Kent retorted in a firm voice. "I am entirely to blame. I…I should have had more control."

Guilt suddenly washed over him in an icy wave. _I can't believe I just did that! How could I have been so bold, so thoughtless? I, an esteemed knight of Caelin, overrun by…by lust! It's unimaginable that I lost control like that, and now I will forever have to live with myself, knowing what a forward cur I have been, this sin a black stain upon my soul…and Lyndis! Her reputation! She will enter marriage with my lack of restraint tainting the pure bride she would have been had this moment never happened—irregardless if her husband is to be me! If people ever find out…Lyn will be whispered about, rumors would fly…no matter how much she may prove what an amazing person she is, if anyone finds out about this, my actions have destroyed all her perfection! I am so ashamed…_

"Kent?" Lyn asked worriedly, breaking through his spiral of self-loathing and embarrassment. "You're not…beating yourself up about this, are you?"

"How could I not?" Kent burst out before he was able to regain his composure. "Lyndis, I practically forced myself upon you, and—"

"You most certainly did not," she said indignantly. "I _allowed_ you to kiss me, and _I_ was the first to take it farther than we usually do."

"But I shouldn't have—"

"Kent!" Lyn interrupted impatiently. "It was only a kiss. A very long one, yes, but…only a kiss. It's not as if you've completely ravished me."

Kent blushed. _How can she speak so boldly of such things? _"A-alright. Yet I apologize—"

"Don't," Lyn said flatly. She stared up at him through her emerald bangs, her eyes suddenly dancing with impishness. "…Did you enjoy it?"

Kent almost laughed at the question. _No, of course not, m'lady…I want to marry you and stay by your side for all eternity, therefore I detest every kiss of yours, and every caress, and every sigh your sweet voice lets escape…_

But of course, such thoughts never made it to words. Kent smiled very slightly, lowered his eyes, and admitted, "…Yes." He looked back up to his lady to find her grinning. "And…did you…?"

"Kent?" Lyn asked softly, rather than answering. Her green eyes were clouded, lost in daydreams. "Will you kiss me like that again, someday?"

"At the very, very least," Kent muttered. Suddenly he realized that he had spoken aloud, and his hand flew to cover his mouth as his eyes widened in alarm. Lyn took a good, long look at the terrified and stricken expression on his face…then burst out into peals of laughter.

Kent bit his lip. "I-I'm sorry…I didn't mean—"

"Oh, stop it," Lyn ordered. She sank back down onto her pillows, fatigue lapping at her consciousness. "It's not every day I have a man as handsome as you want me."

"Quite right," Kent muttered, "every day there are men far _more _handsome than I that…are you going to sleep?"

"Just a nap," Lyn murmured, closing her eyes.

"Oh, of course. Let me fetch you a blanket." Gazing fondly at her still form, Kent made for the closet to see if there were spare blankets inside…until Lyn's eyes suddenly snapped back open and she leapt from up from the bed.

"No!" she cried, flinging herself between Kent and the door, "Don't go in there!"

Kent stared at her blankly. "Er…w-why not, Lyndis?"

Her deep eyes stared back up at him fiercely. "Just because. Don't go in there. Please."

"Um…alright. I am sorry. Sleep well." Kent bowed to her, ever so slightly, before turning and making for the exit. He wondered what she could possibly be so secretive of, an emotion that gnawed at him gently, but he knew better than to force Lyn into anything. If she wanted to tell him, she would tell him. And if she didn't…he would have to respect that.

From behind him, Lyn uttered a growl of frustration, stopping him in his tracks. "Uhg…why must you be so subservient? Respecting me completely, trusting me completely, never questioning…alright, I'll tell you what's in the room!" Kent turned around to face her, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, as Lyn ducked her head and muttered, "…It's where I'm making your marriage bracelet."

"Oh!" A thousand realizations flashed through Kent's head—_there's a bracelet in that room, Lyn and I are getting married, married SOON, Lyn is already making the bracelet, I don't know how to do it, I haven't even STARTED, I shall fall behind and fail in my duty as a husband ALREADY…! _Right when he was about to cross the line into "panic", Lyn kept speaking and pulled him back to sanity.

"You know that neither of us can see the bracelet the other makes for us until the day of the wedding…otherwise, it's bad luck. So…don't go in that room. Please? Promise me?"

It occurred to Kent that this was probably the first time that _he _had even been in control. He could easily push past her and peek into the room, or refuse to promise anything, or promise and then go against his word and peek sometime anyway. Lyn was _asking _for his obedience, not ordering it, and since it was a request Kent was allowed to refuse. _But I would be the biggest cad alive if I did so…_

Therefore, Kent smiled at his fiancée and pledged, "I swear on everything I hold dear that I shall not bring us bad luck."

Lyn grinned back and planted a quick kiss on his lips. Kent knew that he had her trust now, which honored and empowered him—he felt as if he held a glass sculpture, and one slip on his part would cause it to shatter. But he would never slip with such a treasure—he would stand very still and cradle it close to his heart and protect it with his life. He really was very good with things like that…especially when Lyn was concerned.

* * *

It was another slow, sleepy day in the castle. It was warm for an autumn afternoon, and the people in the castle that were usually there to stir things up (namely, Lyn and Della and Pent) were either sick or attending to the sick. So, Sain was forced to amuse himself by staring out the castle windows at the maids sweeping the courtyard.

_Perhaps I should go down and help, _he thought to himself, a tad wickedly. _Women can't resist a strong knight coming to aid them…_

"HUZZAH!" a voice shrieked, right before a blur of green crashed into his side. Sain gave a shriek himself as the force of the hug nearly bowled him over.

"What the—"

"He'sbetterhe'sbetterallbetterhuzzah!"

"And why do I get the feeling you've just come from Lord Eliwood's rooms?" Sain asked the tactician, raising an eyebrow.

"His fever broke." Della's voice had slowed down to the point of coherency. She looked up into Sain's face, her blue eyes both weary and ecstatic. "For about ten minutes he flipped out and got out of bed and started pacing—I wouldn't let him out of the room, he was too delirious—but then he fell asleep like _that._" The tactician snapped her fingers. "His symptoms were gone when I left the room—and I had only been in there for half an hour. He might not even need more of the medicine…"

Sain peered at the tactician closely. "That _was _quite a potent pain-reliever. I've never heard of anything like it. I wonder…what other glorious artifacts, what other wonders, might exist in your homeland? Perhaps it is Heaven itself, if such an angel came from it…" He teasingly pinched her cheek.

"Shut it," Della ordered, pulling away. "It's _not _Heaven. And don't you dare ask me to bring anything else here from my home!" she added in a growl, sticking a finger warningly in Sain's face.

The green knight blanched. "Why not? You've cured Lord Eliwood! You've done so much good with—"

"The stuff from my homeland does not belong here," Della retorted through clenched teeth. "I brought the illness here in the first place, didn't I? You saw what happened! What if something like that happens again—what if it has consequences we can't foresee? I might be a meddler, but…not when this stuff is concerned!" She cradled her head in her hands despairingly. "Egad, what if I pull a Bobby Pendragon? He's _always _screwing everything up! Saint Dane is _sooo _gonna win—"

"What are you going on about _now?"_

"Have you seen Kent?" Della asked abruptly, gazing up at the green knight.

Sain was thrown off by such a random question. "Er…no, not since this morning…he went to go check on the bedazzling emerald in the crown of Lycia."

"Lyn. Ah. Well, then! Let's go find them!"

"What?" Sain asked as Della grabbed his hand and began yanking him with her. "Why do you want to see Kent all of a sudden?"

"Umm, idk, bc he's my bff?" Della replied sarcastically. "And also because I don't want to do my homework. Kent is the alternative."

"Ooookay." Sain decided not to ask. Together they jogged up to Lyn's room.

Della stuck her head in. "Hey Kent, you there?" she hollered. "I—oops."

She had lowered her voice to a whisper, her fingers suddenly white as they clutched the doorpost. Curious, Sain walked to stand beside her in the doorway…and the sight he saw instantly made him grin.

Kent and Lyn were both asleep on top of Lyn's bed. Lyn was curled up very close to her former knight, and he had an arm around her protectively. Their faces, inches from each other's, were full of peace…and they both wore tiny, identical smiles, as if sharing a secret within their dreams.

"Wow," Della breathed. "Now _that…_is true love."

"I know," Sain agreed. "Kent had her on the _bed _and he still didn't—"

"Come on," interrupted the tactician before he could finish the sentence. "Let's leave them alone." She whirled around and began tiptoeing down the hallway.

"We did a pretty good job, you know," said Sain cheerfully as he hurried after the tactician. "To think…not too long ago, neither of them had even expected that the other loved them with that same tender passion, let alone that they could _express _it!"

"Dynamic Della and Super Sain: 1," Della recited with a grin, "world: 0."

"I say," Sain breathed into her ear as they walked along, "It's time to add another point onto our score."

Della shivered slightly. "What do you mean?"

"I say it's high time we find _you _a man."

"Nonsense." Della frowned, but when her eyes flicked over in Sain's direction they were full of mischief. "And you shouldn't talk, Sir Sain…you have yet to get _yourself _a girl."

"Ah, my heart!" Sain cried. "What a blow! Surely you knew better than that—I can woo any girl I wish to!"

"Which obviously explains your lack of a girlfriend."

"Ha! Name a woman, my dear companion, and I shall show you my romantic and charismatic ways to win her over! She shall be mine before the night is through!"

"That's just it, Sain," Della retorted irritably, "_Normal _people can't just fall in love with _anyone. _Although…things would certainly be easier if that were so."

* * *

"Ah…things would certainly be easier if this weren't so…" Erk sighed and tipped his head back, closing his eyes. He wasn't sure if what he held in his hand was a miracle or a curse…although he was still quite sure that Saint Elimine carried a grudge against him. Why else should his fate be so unnecessarily complicated?

He sighed again, more heavily this time, and raked his fingers over the top of his head. The purple tresses he had pushed back merely fell forward again, shielding his face as he reread the letter pinched between his trembling fingers.

_Dear Erk, _

_Perhaps I should skip the formalities, old friend, as we always used to do when we spoke to each other. How have you been? Heath and I have arrived safely in Caerleon, and I must admit that it is wonderful to be home again. Mother has given me a reprieve for a while before I must go back to the customary etiquette lessons…I do enjoy them, but sometimes they are quite tiresome. Be thankful you are not a noble, Erk! _

_How have your studies been going? I know you have always worked very hard, and love to learn, but please promise me that you aren't overdoing it again. I hope you are remembering to relax now and again._

"And being in Ostia with the rest of this motley crew is _completely _relaxing," Erk muttered to himself. It was hard not to remember Matthew jumping out from behind statues and down from ceilings to scare the tense young mage, or Hector constantly stomping around his castle yelling about something at nearly every hour of the day, or _Serra_—who was a category all her own--…but he pushed those distractions aside and forced himself to keep reading.

_I'm afraid I must hurry up and get to the point of this letter. I know that when we parted after Lord Eliwood's ball, the circumstance was awkward at best. I do hope you realize that despite the fact that my feelings for you do not exceed friendship, I do care for you quite deeply. You are one of my best friends, Erk, and I sincerely hope you can still say the same about me._

_Therefore, I extend an invitation for you to come to Caerleon. My parents have already agreed, and we shall make arrangements for you at the first word we receive. It would be a pleasure to have you stay—now that I'm so used to being with you every day, it feels quite odd that you are not always around, and I miss you quite frequently. Please do say you'll come! I'm sure Lord Pent will give you a reprieve…and we have quite a large library, which I'm sure you will enjoy._

The library was tempting, Erk had to admit. His thoughts lingered on Priscilla's proposal as his eyes scanned the rest of her words—cheerful inquiries as to his health, pleas for a speedy reply, and her perfectly-formed (if quite elaborate) signature. _Am I really so idiotic as to consider?_

"You got a letter?" a voice suddenly squealed by his ear. "Ooooh, you lucky, lemme see!"

"Serra!" Erk half-shrieked, jumping up from his desk and whirling around to face the cleric…who had managed to pluck the letter from his hand and was currently scanning it with her frighteningly cunning eyes. "Give that back!"

Serra snorted as her gaze reached the bottom. "Ah. _Her. _I should have guessed."

"That doesn't belong to you," Erk hissed, quickly snatching it back.

Serra lifted her arms and stretched up, obviously not caring at all. Erk wanted to demand that she leave his room (_She has all of Castle Ostia, why does she want to be in HERE?)_, but merely sat back down at his desk with a weary sigh. It had been too exhausting to continue ignoring and hating her…no matter how deeply she had cut him with her taunts about Priscilla. And he couldn't help but notice—he was quite an observer, after all—that even Serra hadn't her usual perky self when they were fighting. She was a bit quieter, a bit more withdrawn, and she was always careful to stay away from him…which made him feel guilty, considering that annoying him was her most favorite pastime. So Erk had let go of his anger towards her, letting it fade back to the usual irritation. Over the past few days he had gradually been more cordial towards her, and she had gradually been more (more more more) talkative. Eventually their friendship had settled back to where it usually was, leaving their frosty fight behind them.

But that still didn't mean Serra wasn't a complete and utter pain.

"You can't honestly be thinking of accepting," the cleric said lazily, walking over to Erk and putting her hands on the back of his chair.

"Of course not," Erk retorted quickly, defensively. "I am not an idiot. Visiting her would just reopen the wounds I've been trying so hard to close, and hardly beneficial to—"

"I knew it." Serra sounded sulky, but Erk couldn't imagine why. "You really _aren't _thinking of going to visit her. And that's the problem."

"Pardon?" Erk glanced up in surprise to find Serra's large eyes peering down at him.

"Erky, you're being so silly! She obviously misses you a whole lot…that means she must feel _something _for you!"

"Something like friendship," Erk scoffed. "Don't be ridiculous, Serra. Besides…" The mage turned away from her, sinking his chin into his hand and staring out the window by his desk. "Even if I _did _want to go, I still have to return to Lord Pent's in a week."

"Awww, come on," cajoled Serra. "I'm sure he'd let you go visit Prissy! He's _always _trying to get you to take a vacation."

"This _is _my vacation," Erk returned stiffly. "And it has been so 'relaxing' that I wouldn't want to take another one for the next ten years."

Serra failed to note his biting sarcasm. "Really? It seems to me you haven't been relaxing at all!"

Erk threw up his hands in defeat before slumping over the desk.

"Look." Serra's breath stirred by his ear, her voice suddenly coy and sly. "If you don't write to Pent and ask for permission to visit Prissy _this instant_, I'm going to write him myself. I'll tell him how worried I am that you've been doing nothing but studying night and day, losing weight, forgetting sleep…"

"Th-that's not true!" Erk protested, raising his head sharply. He had been _trying _to take it easy the past week, even if it hadn't worked very well. He had read more for pleasure than for study, and _had _been remembering to eat and sleep. Most of the time.

"But Lord Pent doesn't know that." Serra smirked, managing to look ridiculously innocent and terrifyingly evil at the same time. "And he knows how well I know you. I'm sure he'd be _very _concerned if I…"

She reached for the quill lying atop Erk's desk, but the mage grabbed her wrist and turned his intense gaze upon hers. "You wouldn't."

"Try me."

Before the mage could react, Serra had broken his grip on her arm and snatched up the quill and the nearest piece of parchment. She retreated to the other side of the room and was able to write "Dear Lord Pent, Erk is being a meanie-face—" before the Erk himself reached her and grabbed his writing materials back.

"Why are you doing this?" he demanded. "You know that I don't want to see her…that I cannot survive any more false hope. And even if you _did _want me to take another chance…how can that possibly be? The last time I checked, you had liked _me._"

Serra turned her face away, smiling to make sure that Erk didn't know he had caught her off-guard. "The last time he checked", she liked him? How naïve. She _still _liked him, quite terribly. And she wasn't quite sure _why _she wanted him to see Priscilla, except for that she knew that deep down inside the heart of her mage friend—_extremely _deep down—it would make Erk happy to be with the troubadour again. It sounded like a dumb reason to send her crush away from her to be with another girl…but that reason was all she had. All she felt.

"Erk, Erk, Erk," she said finally, as if he was hopeless. "You need to stop lying to yourself. It's so _obvious _that you're trying to suppress your feelings…which means they're still alive. You still love her."

"It's not my fault." It was Erk's turn to turn away. He kept his voice soft and level, but Serra noticed that his hands were clenched by his sides, knuckles white. "It just…happens. I can't stop thinking about her, no matter how much I try, no matter how far away she is. I don't _want _to feel this way anymore…but I feel like I have no control. I know that it would only hurt me, were I to accept her invitation…it is not a wise thing to do…"

"But you still want to see her again," Serra finished sagely. "Really, reeeeaally bad."

Erk lowered his head, nodded almost imperceptibly. "I do," he whispered. It was nearly agony to admit it to himself, let alone out loud. To _Serra. _Yet, oddly enough, since she was the only one in Ostia who had guessed his feelings, she was the only one he could talk to about them. It was comforting, in a strange and warped way of its own.

"Now, come on," Serra cooed, pleased at the way she had effortlessly skirted Erk's accusation of her liking him. She put a hand on the mage's shoulder to force him into his chair, took the letter to Lord Pent out of his hands, and slapped it on the desk in front of him. "Let's get your dumb troubadour back."

* * *

At the same moment as Erk and Serra wrote a letter to Pent, asking for permission for Erk to visit Priscilla, Kent and Lyn were preparing to leave for Caelin. A week had passed since Eliwood had tried Della's mysteriously strong medicine and was healed…and the time had come for Lyn and Kent to finally say goodbye to the young lord.

They, Della, and Eliwood were sitting in his room, having one last chat before they went—Eliwood on the edge of his bed, Della in the window seat, Kent on the chair by the desk and Lyn actually _on _the desk, her legs swinging from the edge.

"I can't believe we're leaving," Lyn admitted ruefully. "It seems like we've been here forever."

"I'll say," joked Eliwood. "Pent and Louise left the moment Pent got better…but you sure took your sweet time packing up. A whole week has passed."

"You sound as if you want them gone, Eliwood," Della teased. Her eyes were contentedly shut as she lounged by the window, sunlight thrown over her like a blanket.

"Of course I don't." The lord was suddenly somber. "You know that I will miss you both very much."

"And we won't be able to stop worrying about you once we leave," Lyn retorted peevishly. "We'll hear that a case of the sniffles is spreading through Pherae and instantly start to fear that you'll catch it and be _bedridden _by it for weeks…"

"That's not my fault!" Eliwood exclaimed, referring to the illness that had hit him harder than anyone. "My body was weak to begin with…I hadn't been getting enough sleep, or eating regularly…I was tired all through the day, but I didn't notice because I was so wrapped up in my duties. The illness exploited that weakness, gripped me hard…"

"I told you so." Della spoke but still didn't open her eyes—she was obviously too enamored with the autumn wind wafting through the window, bringing with it the scent of smoke and dead leaves. Lyn also found her eyes closing at the strange, spicy smell. Autumn was very different in Lycia than it was in Sacae. She was still getting used to it.

"Yes, and I should have listened to you," Eliwood replied regretfully. "I just…it was so hard for me to stop what I was doing. When I got wrapped up in a project, it became vastly more important than my health."

"And that's not going to happen again, is it."

It was not a question. Eliwood had to bite his lip to prevent himself from being cheeky and answering her as he would his mother. "No, ma'a—er, Della."

Lyn laughed at that, but Kent couldn't manage more than a smile. He was far too preoccupied with other issues to pay much attention to the conversation.

_I'm making your marriage bracelet._

Lyn's earlier words rang through his head again and again, tormenting him. _What am I to do? I don't know how to even get STARTED, and Lyn can't help me…I should just give up now. But this is a Sacaean tradition…it's very important to her…and so I HAVE to find a way to do this! Perhaps there is someone else that shares her heritage, someone I could ask to teach me how to make the bracelet…?_

Kent chewed his lower lip, trying to recall all the Sacaeans he knew. From his final farewell to Eliwood to the long ride home with Lyn and Florina (whose other sisters had already flown off to attend to their own business) to their joyous arrival back to Caelin, he ran through possibilities in his head. Who could teach him? Who could he ask?

Not Lyn, that was for sure. She wasn't allowed to help him, lest bad luck befall them. So who else was there? Guy? No, he couldn't ask Guy, because the swordsman was presumably out wandering, and didn't even attend Lord Eliwood's ball. Kent hadn't seen him in months, and had no idea where Guy could possibly be. Then there was Karel…but Kent couldn't ask that swordsman either, for he had vanished quite mysteriously, and far before anyone else in the company decided to go their own way. Besides, Karel had always given Kent the creeps.

The knight sighed deeply, feeling lost. There had to be _some _way to make a bracelet for Lyn. Their love had breached all Lycian law and protocol…surely it could best a simple Sacaean tradition. He wracked his brains one last time--was there any other Sacaean that he could remember?

Kent paled as the last alternative suddenly hit him. There was one man left that tugged on the fringes of his memory. There was one man left that could give him the answers. And that man happened to be the last man Kent wanted to deal with.

Because that man was Rath.

* * *

_A/N: Oh noez, more conflict. Perhaps I have a bit too much fun with copious amounts of conflict…xD. Anyway, it wasn't made clear in Not Yet Finished what Rath's connection to Kent and Lyn is, but he'll get his storytime later on. Just wait…_

_Oh, and Della's "idk, bc he's my bff" line? That's from that cell phone commercial…you know, the one where the mom asks the girl who she's been texting so much and the girl speaks only in chatspeak the whole time and replies, "idk, my bff Jill?" Not so funny until one of my friends at a Christian camp started saying "idk, my bff Jesus?" all the time…ahh, good stuff xD. And who caught the Pendragon reference? Those books are good..._

_So! Everyone's better now. FINALLY. Egad, that plot bunny nearly killed ME off. (Vicious little thing…). Time to move on to some real action now…hopefully things will start speeding up. (Hah, hopefully my WRITING will start speeding up!) Anyways, thanks a bunch for reading up till now…as always, I'm extremely grateful. Please review? I'd like to know how I'm doing…_


	10. Worth

_A/N: Once again…sorry for taking so long to update! I'm really quite bad…I hope the ridiculous length of this chapter will make up for it. (eleven pages…AGAIN?)_

_**Chapter 10--Worth**_

The door creaked as Kent opened it, nearly deafening as it sliced through the thick silence of night. The paladin winced.

He had never before noticed how different the castle seemed at night—every shadow loomed, every sound echoed, every person was still and silent beneath the magic spell of sleep. As the only one awake, Kent felt like the only person alive…which made it a bit easier to go through with his plan.

_Which is quite ridiculous, now that I think about it_, he mused nervously. But now was not the time to have second thoughts. He had his plan, and he had to execute it. He had to. For Lyn…and for himself.

But mostly for Lyn.

With all that resolved in his mind, he took a deep breath to steel himself and entered her room, tightly clutching a piece of parchment.

It was not a particularly large room—Lyn herself had chosen it, solely for the reason that it had a gigantic bay window built into the wall. White moonlight streamed through this grand window, floating through the black night air to silhouette the Sacaean princess as she slept. Kent felt a smile tug at his lips as he saw her. Despite the fact that she had been provided with many embroidered pillows, only one cushioned her head—the rest had been tossed to the floor like the nuisances she doubtlessly considered them. Her blankets were twisted around by her ankles, thrown off while she dreamed, presumably about running back to Sacae. Her hair was still bound up in its usual ponytail…she had forgotten to take the band out again. Kent sighed and shook his head.

_It will not do to watch her, it will only weaken my resolve_, he thought regretfully as he walked, as slowly and softly as he could, to her desk. It was a simple thing, though quite well made—just like the rest of her furniture—and Kent gently set his paper down on top of it. With that accomplished, his first instinct was to flee from the room right then and there. It was quite late, after all, and quite dark…and Lyn was quite engaged to him and quite attractive and still quite a ruler of Caelin, his absolute liege. If anyone found sneaking into her room like this, it would be quite awkward and quite improper and he would get into quite a lot of trouble. Besides, if Lyn was the one to wake and find him, she would never let him leave—not her room, not her castle…

Not her country.

_I hate to do this_, Kent mourned within his head. _To just up and leave, without giving her so much as a warning…but I will never accomplish my mission if she knows it. She would want me to stay here, which would make me a failure. Or she would want to come with me, which would make her a deserter from her own country. Despite how cowardly my actions seem, they are the only course I can take. Besides…it is a quick mission. A fortnight to get there, a fortnight to search and learn, a fortnight to get back…_

He should have left. He should have turned his back then and there, and walked out of the room. Perhaps he could have spared another glance in Lyn's direction, to spur him onward on his lonely journey. But something tugged at him within his heart, drawing him to Lyn's bedside. He just couldn't leave without saying goodbye…even if she wasn't awake when he actually said it.

Carefully—for Lyn always had been a light sleeper—Kent untangled the blankets from her legs and pulled them back up to her shoulders. He could not stop himself from allowing himself a moment to gaze at her…the long eyelashes resting on her cheeks, her full lips, the tousled bangs covering her eyes. He took her hand gently in his own, marveling over how the moonlight glinted off of the silver ring around her finger…the mark of their engagement.

"I will return," Kent promised in the softest of whispers. He brushed his lips against her knuckles, kissing her hand as timidly as he used to during the war, before adding, "I love you."

_It is because I love you that I do this. I dare not linger any longer. _

Releasing Lyn's hand, the knight slipped out of her room and quickly headed for the stables.

* * *

_I will return. I love you._

Lyn had been swimming, in the dream…swimming in a sea of long, green, summer grass. That field stretched out as far as she could see in every direction, forming a vast plain…one that had comforted her within dreams for so very long. The wind was whispering to her again, telling her a story as it had every night since she left Sacae…

_I will return. I love you._

The wind spoke only those two sentences, over and over. Lyn cocked her head and listened harder. The breezy voice sounded different—deeper, shyer, more real.

_Real? That means I must be dreaming._

Lyn opened her eyes—but there was no one speaking to her, no one in her room at all.

She quickly sat up in bed and froze, ceasing even to breathe, and listened as hard as she could…to hear soft footsteps receding down the hallway. Whoever was awake at this hour was taking care not to be heard, and was doing a good job of it. The Lycians in the castle certainly would not notice those quiet footfalls.

But Lyn was no Lycian. With a grin, she slid out of bed, ready to follow the mysterious night-wanderer…but just as she was about to slink out the door, something caught her eye.

A creamy piece of parchment was atop her desk, where nothing had been before. Curious, Lyn picked it up to find that it was a letter, written in labored but careful handwriting.

_Lady Lynids, _

_I beg that you will forgive me for leaving without saying goodbye, but I know I would never be able to stay if I faced you. It seems I shall go to Sacae a bit earlier than either of us expected. I have left Caelin on a mission to find out how to make your marriage bracelet—it is only logical that if I want to know a Sacaean tradition, I must find a Sacaean. I will return as soon as I can…please overlook my incompetence and cowardice, for I vow that when I come back to Caelin, it will be with honor. There is more I wish to say, but the other eyes that might find this letter make me hesitant to write it. Just know that I am always thinking of you, wherever I am. _

_Forever yours,_

_Kent._

Lyn's mouth dropped open in shock. The letter was doubtlessly from her fiancé--carefully thought out and to-the-point, down to even the shortest sentence. But he couldn't honestly be serious…!

With renewed determination, Lyn tossed the letter back to the desk and marched out the door, just in time to see a figure turn the corner. She immediately proceeded to stalk it, a lioness after its prey.

The going was slow—Lyn had to move slowly, and constantly hide in the shadows. Luckily most of the torches in the sconces upon the stone walls had guttered out, giving her more dark paths to travel through. She always kept the person sneaking about her castle a good half-a-corridor's length away, if not more…though she was always sure to keep him in her sights. Once, as the man passed beneath one of the few torches still alight, she thought she saw that the feeble light revealed that the his hair was the same color as the flames…but he had turned the corner before she could be sure. With a scowl, Lyn continued her silent pursuit.

She followed the man out the front doors of the castle, and to the adjoining stables. The night air was chilly, especially against her bare feet, but Lyn hardly noticed. By the time she had gotten to the stable door and pressed herself against its cold wood, hiding, her prey had begun leading his horse towards her—already saddled, complete with provisions. Apparently he had already been prepared to go somewhere. Lyn narrowed her eyes, now rather sure that she knew exactly who this mysterious man was.

She still did not show herself even as he reached the stable doors and mounted his horse. The steed whinnied and tossed its head, obviously eager to go back to its stall and sleep.

"Shhh," the man whispered, sounding just like the wind from Lyn's dream. "I know, Gareth, I know. I don't want to leave either. But we must go, if we want to—"

"If you want to what, Kent?" Lyn asked innocently, stepping into view.

The man on the horse visibly blanched. It was easy to see the pure horror on his face, even if the only light was provided from the moon and the faint lanterns hanging in the stable.

"L-L-Lyndis?" he tried to ask conversationally. "W-what are you doing awake?"

"I got your letter." Lyn put her hands on her hips, now completely barring Kent's way out of the stable.

Kent gulped and lowered his head, unable to meet her eyes. "Forgive me…I…I didn't mean to wake you…."

"I'm sure you didn't." Lyn raised an eyebrow. "Honestly, Kent…what were you thinking? What _are_ you thinking?"

"I must find a way to make your bracelet, my lady," the knight murmured back. "Sacae is special to you. Its traditions are special to you. Therefore, I want to uphold them."

"You're being ridiculous!" huffed Lyn. "You don't have to go gallivanting off to a completely different country—_I'll_ teach you how to make the blasted bracelet!"

"But that's bad luck!" Kent was horrified.

"Oh please, that's just a silly superstition—"

"No," said Kent firmly. "Back in Pherae…I swore to you that I would not bring us bad luck. I cannot break such a vow."

"Kent, I'm sure even Luck will make an exception for us! We're the exception to everything else, aren't we?"

"Lyn," Kent whispered. A jolt raced through the princess, and she met his gaze with awe as she realized that the knight had not only forgotten her title, but he had used her nickname. "Lyn, please…I must do this."

"But you don't have to," Lyn protested, feeling tears sting her eyes. She blinked quickly to push them back. "You don't have to do anything for me, I—"

"Do you not understand?" Kent's voice was soft. "When I first realized that I loved you, I did nothing, because I was sure my love was unrequited. When I found out that you felt the same way, I did nothing, because I was sure no one would support us being together. When I found out that everyone wanted us together, I did nothing, because I was sure that the laws would keep us from marrying. If it weren't for Sain and Della, we still might be stealing kisses in secret. But I shall not make the same mistake again. Now I shall act. I refuse to believe that I am powerless again…I want to support you."

"…I…understand," Lyn admitted grudgingly, after a long moment's pause. Her eyes were hurting again, and no amount of blinking could stop it. "If you feel that is what you must do, then I shall not stop you. But…Kent?"

"Yes?" the knight asked, gazing at her.

"Won't you kiss me?" Lyn pleaded. "Just once, before you go?"

Kent swallowed hard. There was nothing in the world that he wanted more, than to grant that one request…but he knew it would be an extremely foolish move. If he so much as touched her, he would never be able to leave her side. But how could he explain…how could he ride away, leaving his beloved standing abandoned in the doorway? For Elimine's sake, there were tears in her eyes! His body leaned down of its own accord, even as his mouth began spilling out the start of a half-hearted excuse.

"M-Milady, I don't—"

He never got the chance to finish his sentence as Lyn lifted herself on tiptoe, wound her fingers into his hair, and kissed him so furiously that it nearly dragged him off his horse.

He did end up sliding off the horse, in fact, since it was quite hard to kiss bending down from such a height. Once his feet were on the solid ground he was able to wrap his arms around Lyn, pulling her close as she continued to claim his lips. He knew he didn't have enough willpower to end the kiss, and felt relieved when Lyn pulled away of her own accord. They stared into each other's eyes, waiting to catch their breath, and finally Lyn sighed and rested her head on his shoulder.

"I'll miss you," she breathed.

"Oh, Lyndis." Kent hugged her as tightly as he could. "I will miss you too—-more than you could possibly imagine."

He wasn't sure what to do next. He couldn't leave her, he wasn't strong enough to let her go…or so he thought until a cold autumn breeze washed over them. Lyn shivered against him. Glancing down, Kent realized that she was wearing only a nightgown and was completely barefoot.

"My lady!" he exclaimed, immediately holding her at arm's length to continue looking her over. "Whatever possessed you to come outside with such light clothes on? You'll catch your death of cold! Go back inside and up to bed!"

Lyn struggled hard to suppress a laugh. "Are you giving an order to me?"

"It seems so," Kent replied, though he ducked his head embarrassedly as he did. "Please, milady…"

"Alright, alright," Lyn chuckled. "I'll go. But Elimine, will life be dreary without you!"

"I promise I will return soon." Kent held one of her hands between both of his. "I do not want you to be lonely, so…why don't you take this as an excuse to visit Lord Eliwood? Or Lord Hector?"

"Or both of them," Lyn mused. "Yes, that's a delightful idea, Kent. I'll ask Grandfather for permission first thing tomorrow." She stared back up into his eyes. Kent, who was about to say something, found himself drowning in their liquid depths and left his words forgotten upon his tongue. He lost track of all time. It felt like forever, but was probably only a minute before Lyn looked away.

"Alright," she said gruffly. "We both know that if we stay any longer, you'll never leave."

"And someone will probably catch us dallying here in the stables," Kent added with a touch of worry. "Your reputation would never survive that maelstrom."

"So get out of here. Hurry up and go, so that you can hurry up and come back."

"Of course, Lyndis." Kent leaned forward and kissed her again—gently, tenderly, drawing it out as long as he could. Finally he jumped back onto his horse and spurred it forward, out the doors and into the night. Despite her orders to go inside and warm up, Lyn stayed in the doorway and waved at Kent's retreating figure until she couldn't see it any longer.

* * *

Erk glanced up at the gigantic stone manor that was the center of Caerleon. It was so tall…so grand…so completely alien to him…he had never been here before. He had never expected to be here. 

Meekly, he lowered his eyes to the brown horse beneath him, absentmindedly patting its neck. _How did this happen? How did this happen? I should be happy…but I'm just jittery! It's a terrible mixture—this rampant anticipation and this awful dread!_

In a last desperate grab at comfort, the mage slipped his hand into his pocket and felt his fingers close around a few sheets of thin parchment. One—the short and brief one—was the reply he had received from Pent a fortnight ago…the one telling him that Pent would be delighted to let his student visit Priscilla.

_"The wisest of men know that it is just as important to live outside of the world as inside it,"_ Pent quoted from one of his many theology books in the letter—one of the many Erk already knew by heart. _"You are very good at living outside of the world, Erk…that is the brilliance within you. But it takes true bravery, true genius, to learn to face reality itself and tackle its challenges. One of the ways to live a long and prosperous life is to make many friends. I am simply delighted that you have found this out for yourself. Take as much time as you wish to visit Priscilla—may your happy friendship prosper! Louise told me to tell you good luck, but for all my research I'm not quite sure what she meant by that…" _

Erk smiled slightly as he remembered reading his master's words. Despite his intelligence, it was true that there were some things the powerful sage just didn't understand. He had another friend who understood all too well, however…and who had written him a several-page letter in her big, loopy handwriting.

_ERKY YOU BIG DUMMY YOU BETTER NOT READ THIS UNTIL YOU GET RIGHT UP TO CAERLEON'S GATES CUZ I KNOW YOU'LL READ THIS A BAZILLION TIMES AND OVERANALYZE EVERYTHING ON YOUR WAY THERE SO YOU'D BETTER JUST SAVE IT!!!_ read the first sentence. Appalled with Serra's complete disregard to spelling and grammar, Erk had stuffed the letter back under his cloak alongside Pent's and decided to heed the cleric's (highly capitalized) advice. After all…Serra's advice was all he had, now. Erk gave a moan of despair as his horse slowly plodded forward towards his future, towards his love…towards his doom.

He had already traveled through the large manor, from the rich fields of wheat to the large and lush hunting forests to the small villages clustered around the center of the whole place—the manor house, which was more of a castle than anything else. Where all the army resided. Where all the rulers resided. Where Priscilla resided.

With a gulp, Erk pulled Serra's letter out and unfolded it with trembling fingers. Skipping past the first sentence, he was relieved to find that she began writing a bit smaller. And using commas.

_Okay, Erky, here's the deal. I promised you a love guide, and here it is. Now, first of all…when you get to Priscilla's…the important thing is to let her know how cool you are._

Erk blanched.

_Oh, don't make that face. I know you are! Look, Erk, Priscilla OBVIOUSLY has a thing for handsome, quiet, confident guys. You have the first two down already. Okay, well maybe you have the SECOND one down, at least. But anyways, you need to work on your confidence. When you see Priscilla, remember to smile a LOT. And stand up straight when you walk. And don't say anything unnecessary or start ranting about your books, because frankly, NO ONE CARES. You can talk a lot about other girls, though. Or all the exercising you've done, or something. _

Erk blanched again.

_Oh, come on! Just PRETEND! To sum everything up—just be calm and collected and pretend not to care. No girl can resist that. Try to add a touch of mystery, if you can. You can save being a sweety for the SECOND conversation you have with her. More on that later…SO STOP READING AGAIN!! PUT THIS LETTER DOWN, OR YOU'LL RUIN EVERYTHING!!!_

There were too many exclamation points. With a grimace, Erk refolded the letter and slipped it back into his pocket. Some of Serra's advice was good, he had to admit. He made sure to sit up straight as his horse approached the front gates of the manor house. An alarum sounded, announcing a visitor, which Erk took as a reminder to throw his shoulders back. He could feel his hands shaking on the reins as the wooden gates slowly creaked open.

_Why am I doing this? This isn't a good idea at all! I should just turn back…it's hopeless, it's futile, I'll NEVER win Priscilla back, I shouldn't be here! And Serra told me to smile…how can I possibly SMILE, which this much terror in my heart? It's impossible! I can't do it! I can't do--_

Then a fiery-haired woman in a spotless white dress was running out of the manor house, running straight towards him, joyfully calling his name.

All of Erk's doubts vanished, and he smiled.

* * *

Serra wasn't smiling. 

She gazed out the window, towards the east, watching the sky darken as rays of the setting sun skirted Castle Ostia and glimmered faintly upon the gilded rooftops of the city below. A festival had begun--something Hector said his people did every year, to give summer and fall one last send-off before winter arrived. Serra planned to join the festivities herself the next day...find some good food, some fun games, some distraction from what was currently occupying her thoughts..._Erk, you better not be doing something stupid. Like reading. Because I sent you over there to FLIRT, darn it! _

"Is the illness back?" Matthew asked, appearing soundlessly—and quite suddenly—at her side.

"No," Serra answered bewilderedly, completely unfazed. She wasn't one to scare easily. "Why would you ask such a silly question?"

"You're being quiet," the thief pointed out. "Something must be wrong."

"It's nothing," said Serra haughtily, returning her attention to the shadows lengthening outside the window.

"Come on," Matthew drawled playfully into her ear. "You can't hide it."

"Can too."

"Just tell me," the rogue wheedled. "Please?"

"No."

"Come on."

"No!"

"But I want to know!"

"Too bad!"

"Won't you tell? Please, please, please?" The thief bounced on the balls of his feet, obviously extremely agitated to not know what was going on. Serra smiled coyly—-no wonder he was a spy.

"Sorry," she said archly, "But this matter doesn't concern you. It is a burden I am perfectly capable of carrying by myself."

Matthew leaned back against the wall and shoved his hands into his pockets as he shot a casual glance her way. "It must be some burden if it silences _you_."

"Hey!" Serra screeched indignantly.

"Come on." Matthew gave a smile both charming and devilish. "You can tell me. I'm only going to find out anyway."

"You think so?" Serra pretended not to care.

"Oh, yes." Matthew closed his eyes, as if he hardly cared either. "I've learned many a secret through mankind's greatest folly--the need to vent."

"That _is _something that people need to do," Serra murmured in agreement. "I just can't tell you how many girls have come up just to tell me that they liked a boy…even during the war! It's like you can't have a secret unless someone else knows about it."

"So is it time for you to have yourself a secret?" Matthew teased.

Serra pouted. "I suppose so…"

"Don't worry." Matthew slung an arm over her shoulder, more to be irritating than to be comforting. "I won't tell anyone that you like Erk."

"Okay." Serra took a deep breath. "Well, I guess the whole problem is that I like…WAIT A SECOND!"

"What?" Matthew asked innocently.

"How did you know?" Serra tore away from his hold and pointed at him accusationally.

Mathew just chuckled. "I'm a spy, aren't I? So come now, Serra…is that all this is? Are you only sad because Erk's gone to visit Priscilla?"

"No," Serra immediately retorted. "I'm not sad so much as…confused."

"Why are you confused?" the thief asked skeptically. "It sounds relatively simple--Erk went to go visit Priscilla."

"No, I _sent_ Erk to visit Priscilla, you dummy!" Serra turned away with her nose in the air. "You're quite dense, for a spy."

"I suppose I am." Matthew scratched his sandy hair. "I don't get it…if you liked him, then why in the world did you send him off to be with another girl?"

"I don't know!" cried Serra. "That's the problem, isn't it!"

Matthew pursed his lips in thought and slid down to the stone floor to sit and think. He didn't say anything for a while, and waited for Serra to break the silence (which she promptly did).

"It's weird," she whispered, "that I don't know. When others came to me for help with their own romance problems, it was so easy for me to see the solution. It was always obvious. But now that I have problems of my own…I can't see anything at all. I don't know what to do."

"Mm." Matthew thought a moment more. "Perhaps it's best if you tell me exactly what happened."

"You mean, how I made him leave?"

"Yeah."

Serra gave an extremely gusty sigh, as though the last thing she wanted to do was talk about this…however, secretly, she was very thankful that Matthew was offering to listen to her human folly.

* * *

"_No," Erk moaned, opening the letter with white fingers and scanning it, horror dawning in his eyes. "Oh no, no, NO…" _

_"Yes!" Serra yelled, punching the air triumphantly. "He said YES!" _

_"Why, Lord Pent?" Erk asked the letter forlornly. "Why would you do this to me?" _

_"Because he knows it's for the best." Serra shot her friend an evil grin. "Now let's go, Erk, pack your things for Caerleon!" _

_"Serra, y-you're making a big mistake—h-hey!" _

_The cleric had begun pushing her mage friend towards the door of her room so that they could start packing in his…until she realized he was trembling. Slowly, she released him and peered up at him through her pink bangs. _

_"…Erky?" _

_"Serra," he whispered, "I can't go. I can't do this. It's ridiculous." _

_"Of course it's ridiculous, it's love!" Serra exclaimed._

_"But I don't want to be in love!" Erk cried. A bit surprised by that sudden outburst, he turned away from her, clutching at the front of his shirt. "It is foolish to hope for her any longer, Serra. It is best to just let these feelings fade with time." _

_Serra clenched her fists. "You're being so stupid! You think you know what goes on in a girl's head? Well, you DON'T…but I do! Go, Erk, go—take a chance! You'll never get anywhere if you don't ever take a chance!" _

_"But Serra…I'm…afraid," the mage murmured. "I wouldn't know what to say or do…it would be so awkward." _

_Serra scowled. "Look. If you're really that dumb…I'll TELL you what to do. I'll write you a whole guidebook on what to do. And you can take it with you." She was gaining speed now, impressed with the pure brilliance of her idea. "In fact, even if my guide is not extensive enough, you may stay in correspondence with me so that I might touch upon the finer details of how to handle such a romance! There—with a mastermind like me behind you, you have no reason not to go!" _

_Erk just stared at her._

_Serra grinned back, quite evilly. "You see? It's foolproof. You'll always have help right at your fingertips…so even YOU can't turn tail and run away." _

_"I do NOT run away," Erk protested hotly. _

_"That's the fighting spirit," Serra declared jubilantly. "Perfect! Now you just go and win Priscilla back! I know you can do it!" _

_Erk stared at her for another long, long moment. Ordinarily Serra would have broken the silence, but something within his intense eyes paralyzed her. It was like she was drowning and unable to swim to the surface._

_"A-are…are you serious?" Erk finally asked her, rather incredulously._

_Serra's eyes widened. "Erky, I'm offended! Surely you know I am ALWAYS serious!" _

_"Yes, but I…and you…Priscilla…" Erk broke off, at a loss for words. Finally he seemed to gather his wits, nodded his head in her direction, and made for the door—ready to pack. Serra felt pride swell within her, that Erk would be so brave. She always had loved that determined side of him. And yet, if he DID get hurt…she would never be able to forgive herself…_

_"Be careful, Erk," Serra said softly, right before he disappeared beneath the doorpost. He heard her, and turned around, telling her,_

_"I will." After a second's hesitation, he smiled and murmured, "And I think I shall take you up on that guide to romance. Thank you, Serra." _

_"But of course," Serra declared haughtily, one hand poised regally over her heart. He was smiling! At her! ERK was smiling at HER! The sage's lips twitched, as if he wanted to smile wider, but before he could he bowed to her and quickly ducked out of the room._

_Which left Serra free to collapse into the nearest chair, hugging herself. _

_"A smile!" she exclaimed to the walls. "A smile, just for me! I made him SMILE!" She burst into a giggle fit, which quickly ended when she realized that the next time Erk smiled, it would be for Priscilla._

_She heaved a great sigh and scowled, slouching over in the chair. Stupid love! Look at all she had just done for it! And what had it ever done for her, huh? Just left her with a hollow heart and the memory of a smile! But it had made Erk happy…_

_"Fine," Serra decided to whoever was listening. Like the walls again. "I will continue to support him. This only proves what a selfless and generous person I am. Elimine HAS to bless me for this…right?" _

_Unfortunately, the walls didn't answer back.

* * *

_

"…Ouch," was all Matthew had to say when Serra finished venting. She had ended up sitting on the floor beside him, and now slouched down even further as she sulked.

"Yeah."

"Well, we know one thing for sure." Matthew smiled slightly and poked Serra in the chest. "Underneath this gossipy exterior, something beats very strongly. Love is powerful, Serra…and I think you've used it well."

"So I did the right thing?" Serra ventured timidly, before straightening up and amending, "I mean, not that I had any doubts…of _course_ I did the right thing…"

"Yeah. I think you did. It was very…selfless of you." Matthew settled his head back against the wall and closed his eyes again.

"Matthew…" Serra ventured again, "A love this strong…it has to work out, doesn't it?"

Matthew let out a long sigh, images of Leila's bright hair and sparkling eyes and lively smile flashing through his mind's eye. "I…wish that were so, Serra. I wish that were so."

The cleric was quiet again. It was most unnerving. Matthew opened one eye.

"But, you know," he said softly, "even if it doesn't work out…a love this strong is always worth it."

"But of course," said Serra haughtily. "But of course."

Suddenly a loud commotion sounded through the hallway—Hector's voice rumbling, and a higher voice yelling back.

Matthew leapt to his feet, eyes suddenly dancing with excitement. "I wonder what _that_ could be?"

"Another romance problem to solve," Serra said, feigning tiredness, as she followed Matthew down the hallway to see what new adventures were to ensue.

* * *

"HYAAH!" 

With a battle cry he had not uttered since the end of the war, Eliwood whacked his sword against Marcus' as the general recovered from a wide slash that Eliwood had only ducked just in time. His wooden weapon cracked against Marcus' and sent it tumbling out of the veteran's hands, to the hard-packed dirt of the practice ring.

"Very impressive, Lord Eliwood," Marcus grumbled, chest heaving as he glanced at the wooden sword point against his throat.

"And it only took me ten tries to win a round," Eliwood chuckled back, as flushed and out-of-breath as his knight. He lowered his practice weapon, allowing Marcus to bend and pick up his own wooden sword from the ground, and tried to wipe his sweaty brow with his sleeve…until he noticed that his white shirt had ripped, from the collar to halfway down the middle.

"When did that happen?" the lord asked bewilderedly.

Marcus studied the rip. "I am not sure. Such wear and tear is not uncommon during such a heated spar, however."

"Yes, I know." Eliwood blew a sigh through his lips. "I suppose we're done for the day?"

"Yes," Marcus affirmed. "Your skills are quite impressive, my lord."

"I should hope so," Eliwood grinned back. "I was pathetic two weeks ago!"

It was still a horrific image within his mind--the day he had been well enough to leave his bed, he had been dressing in front of his mirror…and caught sight of himself for the first time in two weeks. Due to the illness, and the tiresome work he had thrown himself into since his coronation, his flesh had practically wasted from his bones. He was pale, thin, and sickly-looking…which had been quite a blow to his manly pride, looking back on it.

Therefore, for the past couple of weeks, Eliwood had made sure to arrange some time each day to go out and practice swordsmanship. The first day he had been as shaky and weak as a newborn faun, and Marcus beat him soundly every time…but after that he steadily grew in strength until he was back to his former glory. It was a very good feeling.

Eliwood stumbled back into the armory and put the practice sword back on its rung, hanging sheath-like from the wooden wall. Hoping that he would be able to find a spare shirt to wear, he stripped off his ripped shirt, tossed it onto the back of one of the wooden horses that the pages used to practice lancing, and began to wander the room. During his search, his darting eyes fell upon a dirty, cracked mirror leaning against the wall…and caught a glimpse of his fractured reflection within it. Eliwood stopped, brow furrowed, to look harder.

There was enough of the mirror intact for him to inspect himself. His bright hair was sticking up in odd places, caused by a few extremely narrow dodges away from Marcus' wooden sword, but his eyes blazed with health and light. On top of that, despite being a bit sweaty and dirt-smudged, it was easy to see that the muscles of his chest and arms were once again well-defined. Eliwood felt his lips stretch into a smile as he stared at his skin. _Looks like these past couple weeks have done me some good!_

"Hey Lowen?" a voice asked from the doorway connecting the practice armory to the castle. "Will you make me a pancake? I don't want to set the kitchen on fire again by trying it myself like I did when we made waffles, and…oh!"

Eliwood whirled around to find Della stepping into the room, her eyes widening as she spotted him in turn.

"L-lord Eliwood?"

"Della!" The marquess felt a blush creep across his face as those large eyes of hers lowered fractionally—to his bare chest. "W-what are you doing here?"

"Looking for Lowen," the tactician responded, her gaze abruptly flitting from his abdominal muscles back to his face. "Have you seen him?"

"H-he isn't here." Eliwood swallowed and turned away from the girl, subtly trying to search for his old shirt. "Ahem…this is a bit improper…forgive me…"

"What's improper?" Her voice sounded a tad confused. "Oh, wait—you mean the shirtless thing? Don't be silly, Eliwood. It's not your fault I walked in on you."

"It's not your fault that a man was walking around half-naked. It's unseemly that you should see—"

Della snorted, cutting him off. "What about Hawkeye?"

"Nevertheless," the lord responded absentmindedly. He finally spotted the wooden horse, and his shirt draped over it, and quickly strode towards it…

…tripping over a bucket of oats, a wooden lance, and a saddle; clipping his shoulder on one of the wooden beams holding the ceiling up; and skidding on a puddle of straw before finally reaching his destination.

Della's obvious efforts to muffle her giggles were futile—Eliwood ignored the soft laughter and turned his back to her, slipping the shirt on back over his head. He sighed as he glanced at the giant rip down the front, but contented himself with the fact that it was better than no shirt at all. His face felt like it was on fire, after making his way so gracelessly to the middle of the room. He forced himself to take a deep breath through his nose. _Why am I getting so flustered? This isn't a big deal._

He finally turned back to face the tactician with a sheepish smile. His ungainly flight to his shirt might have explained the look of surprise on Della's face--but not the look of tenderness that immediately replaced it.

"You're human," she observed, as if noticing for the first time. Her voice was soft and fond.

Eliwood blinked. "Er…yes, I am."

Della chuckled slightly as he walked back to her, picking his way more carefully through the debris that littered the armory.

"It's…strange," she finally said slowly, eyeing the rip in his shirt that ran to the middle of his chest. "You're usually so…perfect. You're always calm and collected and controlled…it's weird to see you looking dirty, or acting clumsy." She reached out a hand to touch his chest, exposed by his ruined shirt, but hesitated, and then quickly drew her hand back to her side in embarrassment.

Eliwood smiled and held back a laugh. That side of her never failed to amuse him—the skeptical side that wanted to prove everything, that wanted to see and hear and touch and make things tangible. Forgetting the situation that had been so improper before, he took her hand and placed it on the warm skin over his heart. As always, her fingers felt cool in contrast.

Della's eyes flickered up to his nervously for a moment, before sinking back down to his chest. Just as hesitantly as the first time she raised her other hand and, when Eliwood made no move to back away, placed it beside the first. Gingerly she slid her hands up to his shoulders and back down again.

"You feel so real," she whispered, so quietly that he almost didn't hear her.

Once more, she had baffled him. "Of course I'm real. Aren't you real?" he added, teasing her.

To his surprise, Della did not answer right away. She grew sullen and stared at the floor, though her hands never left his skin.

"I…I don't know. I thought I was real…because you aren't, when I am. But if you're not real when I am, am I not real when you are?" Her voice rose and got faster, as it always did when she spoke her rapid brainstorms aloud. "What is real, anyway? What if none of this is real? It can't ALL be real, can it? Because if it is, than what's imagination? Imagination would have to be real as well, wouldn't it? But then, technically, it's not what it is anymore! Therefore nothing might be as it is! This makes absolutely no sense at all!"

"I'll say," Eliwood muttered.

Della smiled ruefully and pulled away from him. "Sorry. I can't help spouting nonsense. I mean, I should, but--"

"No." Eliwood reached out and caught her hand, causing her to break off. "I like how you are. Even if it is confusing."

"Uh, thanks, I guess." She wouldn't look at him. They were silent for a long moment. Finally she mumbled, "I'd better find Lowen", gently removed her hand from his, and scurried to the doorway. However, she paused once she was there, her eyes flickering over his form again. "Oh, and Eliwood?"

"Yes?" he asked.

"Lookin' good," she said. Eliwood caught the barest glimpse of an impish smile before she positively fled from sight. He was still blushing furiously when Lowen came into the room, asking if he knew what a pancake was.

* * *

_A/N: MMMMM pancakes. Except I haven't had a pancake in a long time,. Actually, my newest thing has been Christmas cookies. Heck, I AM a Christmas cookie. I've eaten so many that I think I'm SICK of cookies. Except…not quite :-P. _

_ANYWAYS…wow, scene switches are fun. Looks like I'm deep within another ridiculously tangled-up plot. Ah well. So…I'm sorry if the whole thing with Kent leaving seemed really sudden. That was kind of the point, actually…he was thinking "if I do this really fast, I can pull it off!". Haha, silly Kent. And…well, I suppose that's all I can say besides "see you next chapter"…feedback would be very much appreciated, if you're not too busy. Merry Christmas, y'all! _


	11. Care

_A/N: AAAAAAAAHHH. Longest chapter EVER. It's twenty flippin' pages long. Without being double-spaced. 12 pt font. This had better make up for the excruciatingly long time it took to post! (Which I am sorry about, by the way. I have the entire plot worked out, never fear, it's just a matter of finding the time to WRITE it…especially now that Super Smash Bros. Brawl is out. Ooops.) _

_**Chapter 11—Care**_

There she was, curled up on her silken window seat, her chin resting on a white hand as she gazed out into the gardens. Again.

Erk stood in her doorway, one hand unconsciously curled into a fist as he tried to muster up the courage to enter her room. He could practically feel Serra's Love Guide burning in the pocket of his red cloak—he had read it over so many times that he nearly had it memorized. Most of her advice was completely ludicrous, and he was ashamed to admit that he ever laid eyes upon such nonsense…but the longer he gazed at Priscilla, the more he realized that he really had no idea what he was doing. He was not lucky in love; he was not talented in love. Though he doubted that Serra was any more experienced than he was, she still knew _something_ about the horridly confounding emotion…and since her knowledge was all he had to rely on, his mind grasped it like a rope cast out to a drowning man.

"_So if you've read this far, that means you've lived through the first couple days. It's been awkward, huh? Yeah, I can only imagine…Heath giving you a weird glance now and then, and Priscilla afraid to even touch your hand if he's around…and of course I'm sure you've been jumpy as a flea. Ha! I'm so right, aren't I? I'm totally right! Don't ask how I know, Erky, you are SO predictable. You've better been doing as I told you to—treating Heath and Priscilla only as friends. Because if you've been glaring or flirting with them—respectively, I mean—you'll ruin everything. EVERYTHING!! Got it?! Okay! NOW…let me tell you a little secret. Heath's not an unattractive man, if you know what I mean, and I've just HAPPENED to learn a little bit about him. Not in a stalker-ish way, you understand, I just…oh, just keep reading, Erk! ANYWAY, I know that Heath is a lone wolf. He loves Priscilla, sure, but a guy like him really needs space once in a while. So he's not going to be around all the time like some OTHER clingy guys I can mention...have I mentioned? DON'T BE CLINGY!! Wait until Heath is out taking a break from the world…and since Priscilla IS the clingy type (Oh, trust me, Erky, I just KNOW these things), that would be the perfect time to rush in and keep her company. So what are you sitting here reading this for?! GO! GO GET HER, YOU STUPID BOY!!"_

Erk didn't need to take the Love Guide out again to feel Serra's wrath—the horribly grammar-starved words were burned into his mind. Reminding himself to tell Serra to actually use _paragraphs _in her next segment of the Guide, he took a deep breath and stepped into Priscilla's room.

She did not notice his presence at first—she just kept staring out the window, as if any moment Heath would walk back into view. Her brilliant green eyes were now clouded, listless, hebetudinous…

"Priscilla?" Erk ventured softly.

She took a deep breath and turned slowly to face him, like one waking from a deep dream. "Erk? Oh, hello! What are you doing here?"

"I just…" Erk clasped his hands behind his back and scuffed one booted foot against the ground until he remembered Love Guide Rule #1: _Always be confident. _He abruptly stood up straight and puffed out his chest as much as he dared. "I just came to say hello to you, Priscilla."

The troubadour smiled at his earnestness. "Oh, Erk…I'm so glad you're with me again. Here, come sit, and we'll talk." She smiled, moved over, and patted the cushion next to her. Erk sat down, rather gracefully for one whose insides were melting into a warm, delicious goo. Taking Serra's advice—a feat of bravery to be sung about—he had indeed for the past week been seeking Priscilla out whenever Heath went to take a walk; something the wyvern rider did frequently. Erk enjoyed their private talks…although it saddened him to learn how lonely the healer became whenever the Heath was absent.

"Priscilla…" Erk said after a hesitant moment. "Why are you always staring out that window?"

The troubadour gazed to it again, a slightly dull and bitter smile upon her perfectly formed lips. "I…I'm not quite sure, Erk. Perhaps it's because…I half-hope that I shall see Heath walk into my line of vision?" She phrased it as a question, knowing herself that the thought sounded rather silly. "It's just…he's always so distracted nowadays, so defensive. It is as if he feels something terrible is coming to get him. I know that is not so, but…maybe…if I watch long enough, I'll be able to catch a glimpse of it as it comes…so I can warn him…or so I can stop it myself." She lowered her head so that her sad smile showed only to her lap, so that her fiery fringe of hair obscured the blush across her features. She was truly being ridiculous.

"Priscilla…" Erk stretched out a hand, but hesitated…before remembering Love Guide Rule #3: _Do not be afraid of the touch barrier. _Gently, timidly, he rested his hand on her shoulder. She looked up at him with those innocent eyes, and his mouth twitched into a warm smile of its own accord. "Priscilla, you have nothing to fear. I'm sure that Heath is just having a hard time…getting used to this. To everything." He gestured around her extravagant room with his free hand. "He's been a soldier all his life, you know. Living with nobles…not being able to fly wherever he wants, whenever he wants…worrying about how he will fit in…he has many things to think about."

"Oh Erk, you're so wise." Priscilla took his hand from her shoulder and held it against her cheek for a moment, closing her eyes against its warmth. The heat was a pleasant surprise—she had expected his touch to be as cold as his logic. "Why didn't I see that from the start? Yes, of course he needs time to think things through…this is a big change for him. Oh, I'm so inconsiderate…I've only been thinking about myself, about how I need him with me…"

"No," Erk silenced her softly, locking gazes with her. "You aren't inconsiderate at all. I'm sure that if you love him that much, every moment without him hurts. It's only natural to want him by your side." _I would know the feeling, Priscilla. I would know._

"I suppose…" the healer mused. "And yet, I can't help but feel…"

"Shh." Erk lightly brushed his fingers against her cheek. Priscilla was silenced by such a tender gesture. _Love Guide Rule #2, Erky: Confident is how you attract 'em. Mysterious is how you hold 'em. Caring is how you keep 'em. _Erk thought that was a dumb rule for Serra to add—as if she needed to remind him to care for Priscilla? As if he could _stop _caring? Even as just…just a friend?

"Priscilla, just give him time," Erk assured her. "He will come back to you, just the way he used to be. And no one shall be happier for you than I."

"_Make sure to always be supportive of their relationship—not jealous in the least. Because once Priscilla thinks you don't want her anymore, it'll make you Unattainable—and therefore desirable! It'll drive her NUTS!" _

Priscilla's heart fluttered to hear such kind words, but in her soul there still remained a seed of doubt. "I trust you Erk, you know that…but my words didn't come out right, something is _different_…I…I can't explain this foreboding that I—"

"Nonsense." Erk said firmly. "You have nothing to worry about." _Which I tell you because I just can't stand to see you look so mournful._

Priscilla finally allowed herself to smile…with genuine happiness. "I suppose you're right. I shall listen to you…for you are my best and most-loved friend."

Erk was about to burst with pride and exuberant joy…until her last word hit him and rang around in his dazed brain as if he had been knocked over with a tuning fork.

_Still just a friend? _he thought desperately. _I need to write another letter to Serra…_

_

* * *

_"Sorry, I have no room," the innkeeper said apologetically. "It's this Autumn Harvest Festival—the country fills up every year, come this season."

Farina sighed wearily. "But I've been searching for a place to stay the night all day!" "

"Sorry, miss." The man began closing the heavy oaken door of his inn.

"Wait!" Farina cried, sticking her hand against the doorpost to stop him. "I'm exhausted, my Pegasus is hungry, and there's no way I'll make it to Ilia tonight! Isn't there anywhere else I can go? Anywhere else I can stay?"

"Sorry, miss," said the innkeeper again. "I expect everybody else is as full up as I am. Your best bet is to find a friend here in Ostia and stay with them for a week or so—that's how long all the Festival usually lasts."

"But I don't _have _any friends in—" Farina began desperately. She was cut off as the door was shut in her face. With a sigh of defeat, she trudged down the straw-strewn front steps of the inn and into the cobblestone street, where Murphy was patiently waiting. He lifted his head and flicked his wings excitedly at her approach, which only made her feel worse as she put a hand to his nose.

"Sorry, ol' boy," she said sadly. "I couldn't get us in here, either."

The steed whickered softly, and Farina leaned against him. "Yeah, I know. The jerk told me to go find a friend to stay with…but where am I ever going to find a friend in Ostia, especially during the middle of a Festival?" She gazed up at the sky, hoping to find her answer spelled out in the clouds…but her eyes lit upon the gleaming, golden towers of Castle Ostia, instead. With an idea quickly hatching in her brain, Farina turned to grin at Murphy…

And that was how they came to land at Hector's doorstep.

The Marquess of Ostia was not pleased.

* * *

Hector was just walking along the ramparts of his castle, hoping that some fresh air on such a nice day would put him in better spirits. He was already in a sour mood—having _finally _finished a meeting with two wishy-washy ambassadors from Khathelet—and was, quite frankly, already sick of the whole Marquess-of-Ostia situation. It was just _boring_—no one dared to interrupt him, no one dared to correct him, and absolutely _no one_ dared to argue with him. Hector hadn't had a good argument in days.

He paused for a moment and flexed the fingers of his right hand, toying with the idea of picking up the Wolf Beil once more and challenging Oswin to a—

Before he could finish the thought, a Pegasus landed right in front of him with an immense ruckus of hooves and shower of feathers. Hector jumped back with a shout of alarm.

"Oh, please," a dainty voice disdainfully reproached, "It's not like you haven't seen a Pegasus before."

Hector stared at said steed's rider with an equal parts awe and horror. "…_Farina?" _

"In the flesh," the woman retorted, nimbly dismounting. Hector was quick to notice her sun-kissed complexion, her wind-rouged cheeks, and her eyes—sparkling with their usual fire. Farina was _healthy_…quite contrary to the last memory he had of her, in which her gaunt countenance and sudden weakness had reduced her to tears of fear end helplessness.

"You're better," Hector said suddenly, bluntly.

He was staring at her. _Staring _at her! Farina fought back a blush and put her hands on her hips. "Of course I'm better—I'm better than the best! I'm Farina of Ilia!"

"No," said Hector brusquely, "I meant you're not sick anymore."

"Oh. That." Now Farina _was _blushing, as all her memories of breaking down and weeping like a frightened, pathetic little girl--and in Hector's presence, no less!—came flooding back. "Of course I'm better."

She was talking to him as she would to a toddler, to an utter moron, but Hector could only smirk. She surely hadn't seemed so confident _earlier_…not when she had been latching onto his shirt and huddling into his embrace. "So…what exactly are you doing here, Farina?"

"I need a place to stay," she told him.

Hector raised an eyebrow. "That's great. I would recommend Ilia."

"I can't _get _to Ilia by nightfall," Farina growled, gesturing towards the late-afternoon sun. "I need a place to stay _here, _in Ostia!"

"…Do you realize exactly how many inns we have 'here in Ostia'?" Hector asked irritably.

"Do you realize that every single one of them is full due to this blasted Harvest Festival?" Farina shot back.

"And what exactly do you want me to do about that?"

"Let me stay here!"

Hector's jaw dropped. _Farina? _In his _castle_? That was the worst sort of situation he could ever imagine!

"Why in Elimine's name would I let you stay _here?" _he finally spat.

Farina crossed her arms and glared at the young lord. "Because I've got nowhere else to stay! Because this castle is big enough for a hundred of me! Because Ostia is supposed to be famous for its hospitality!"

Hector grimaced. It was true, Ostia was renowned for its wealth—and therefore, it's generosity. As the ruler of Ostia, the most revered man within its gilded walls, Hector was bound to uphold the morals that his country stood for.

_But _Farina_? Surely that's going much too far! I can only imagine what it'd be like to have her here, even for just a day…constantly shouting and swaggering and bickering! Why, I wouldn't get a drop of peace! I'd be so busy arguing with her that I—_

Arguing.

The word resounded through Hector's mind again and again, as if someone had screamed it in a cavern and sent it bouncing wildly off the walls. He felt his eyes widen, felt his lips slowly spread into a smile.

"And what are you grinning at?" Farina snapped irritably. "Are you gonna let me stay here or not?"

"If I must," Hector growled back, his smile fading from his face but lingering within. Farina might have been a lot of things—bothersome topping the list—but boring was _not _one of them. Hector desperately needed something to keep him from his mundane days as Marquess. Remembering protocol, he quickly jerked his head down in a nod—the closest he would get to bowing to her—and muttered, "You are welcome here. You can have your pick of any room in the castle."

"Really?" Farina asked, eyes lighting up at the prospect of staying within the grand and immense Castle Ostia.

"Yeah," Hector grumbled. "As long as it's as far away from my room as it can possibly be!"

It was too late for her to hear him—Farina had already let out a giddy whoop and hopped onto her Pegasus, spurring it into the air. The two soared down to the stables, where she would doubtlessly feel obliged to pick the best stall for her steed as well. Hector frowned grumpily and hoped that it, too, was as far away as it could possibly be from his _own _horse's stall. With a disgruntled sigh, he leaned on his elbows against the waist-high wall of the battlements.

"How do I get myself into these situations? I'm either bored to death or in so much trouble that—ARGH!"

Something dropped from the sky with a piercing screech and landed right on Hector, who immediately crumpled to the ground with the shrieking weight on top of him. A mass of soft, wispy whiteness exploded in his vision, so that he could hardly see. He bellowed out an oath, and as the whiteness fluttered in retreat to the edges of his vision, he realized that he was staring into a pair of very blue eyes. Something tickled his cheek—he turned his head to find nothing but lavender.

"EEEEEEEEEEEEEEK!"

With a scream that curdled Hector's blood, his assailant leapt off of him and sprinted for its life. Hector quickly sat up, calling after it with mixed emotions—anger, exasperation, and a slight (very slight) happiness to see it again: "Florina!"

The tiny Pegasus Rider turned, face pale with horror and eyes wide with panic. She was trembling violently, and threw her arms around her steed's neck for support as she looked back at Hector.

"L-l-l-l-l-lor-r-rd—" She was shaking so badly that she couldn't utter a single word.

"Florina, what on _Elibe _are you doing?" Hector demanded. "That's the second time you and your bloody horse—eh?"

He broke off to realize that she was crying now, due to the unintended harshness of his voice. She quickly buried her face in Huey's mane. Hector felt terrible—he hadn't meant to make her _cry! _

"I'm so s-s-sorry, L-lord Hector," she mumbled. "I-I didn't m-mean to!"

Hector heaved a sigh and climbed to his feet. "Yeah, yeah. It's not like this hasn't happened before—I guess I should be used to it. I'm sorry I snapped at you."

Florina took a huge breath before letting go of her Pegasus' neck and scrubbing a hand across her eyes to dry her tears. "A-and I'm s-sorry that I got so scared. I'm s-supposed to be getting better around m-men…"

"It's not your fault," Hector assured her gruffly. "It's understandable that you'd be frightened if you fell from a height and landed on top of what you fear the most. How can you prepare for it?"

Florina peeped up at him, a timid smile upon her lips. "It seems to happen more and more often, L-lord Hector…haha!"

Hector chuckled at that. "Alright, kid, what are you doing here?"

"Oh! That's right!" Looking rather flustered, Florina dove for her saddlebags and rummaged around until she emerged with a slightly bent letter. "I have a message for you, from Ly—er, _Lady _Lyn!"

"Lyn, eh?" Hector asked. He took the letter from Florina, taking care that his fingers didn't brush against hers—her hand was already trembling like a leaf. "What'd she want?"

"She wants to visit you," Florina explained. Seeing the confused glance on Hector's face, she hurriedly added, "I-if that's alright with y-you!"

"Of course it is!" Hector was quick to calm her down. "I just…don't understand why. Isn't she perfectly happy over in Caelin with Sir Stiffalot?"

Florina put a hand over her mouth to muffle her horrified giggles. "You mean Kent? He's not there anymore. He went to Sacae to learn how to make Lyn a bracelet for their wedding—he left very suddenly. Even Lyn almost didn't catch him!"

Hector felt his brow furrow. "He just up and left to a completely different country? And for what—a _bracelet_?"

"It's very r-romantic," Florina dared to say, clasping her hands before her. "H-he wanted Lyn to have something special—something from her home—at their wedding. The problem is that Lyn is lonely now. She wants to come visit you…a-and Lord Eliwood, too."

"Well." Hector smiled warmly and slipped the letter into his pocket, already eager to read Lyn's doubtlessly interesting account of the past couple of weeks. "If Kent leaving means that I get to see Lyn again, then let him be gone as long as he wants! Tell Lyn that she can come by anytime."

Florina smiled, a gesture which completely lit up her usually panic-stricken face. "S-She'll be very happy to hear that!"

Hector was about to respond when he heard a clatter behind him, giving him a bit of a start. He quickly whirled around, knees bent, instinctively in a defensive position…to find Farina once more on his ramparts, her Pegasus half-unsaddled and her eyes on her sister.

"Florina!" she cried, "It _is _you!" She leapt from the saddle and ran to the lavender-haired girl, gripping the younger's forearms as if to reassure herself that her sibling was tangible. Florina, her eyes aglow, was just about to stammer something about being pleased to see Farina…which was when Farina noticed her sister's moist face.

"You've been crying!" she exclaimed. "What—how did--?" Farina snapped her head over to glare lethally at Hector. "YOU!"

"ME?" Hector gawked.

"You _brute!_" Farina cried, releasing her sister and stalking towards Hector with burning fury in her eyes. "You made her cry! What did you _do? _I shall kill you!"

She aimed a punch towards Hector's jaw, but he grabbed her fist and stopped it. Though she winced slightly at his crushing grip, she drew her other hand back to try and strike him again—

"Farina, w-wait!" Florina cried suddenly. "Don't, it's not Lord Hector's fault!"

Farina froze for a moment, trying to get the words "not", "Hector's", and "fault" to make a coherent sentence within her brain.

"Yeah!" Hector himself added a moment later. "She fell off her Pegasus and onto me. She got scared. She cried for a bit."

"I'll be stronger next time, I p-promise!" Florina butted in fretfully. "Really, Farina! I will! S-so please don't hurt Lord Hector!"

The fact that Florina thought Farina was even half a match for him made Hector smirk, as Farina lowered her eyes—her fist still caged in Hector's big hand.

"Sorry," she finally muttered, drawing back—Hector's palm felt cold without her fingers against it, and he brushed it absentmindedly against the side of his doublet. "I didn't mean to attack you like that…but I do worry a lot about Florina."

"I would _never _hurt Florina," Hector promised softly. Farina quickly glanced up, feeling a strange and sharp surge of jealously…until she realized that he was looking right at her, until he continued to speak: "I know how precious she is to you."

_He watches out for Florina because of _me?

Farina didn't know how to react to that. She shot Hector a wary glance before turning to her sister.

"I'm going to go settle Murphy down," the blue-haired woman murmured. "Sorry that I made such a spectacle. Again."

Florina grinned. "It's good to know that you haven't changed over the course of all your adventures. Why exactly are you in Ostia now, anyway?"

She glanced curiously over at Hector—who was now casually leaning on the rampart wall and staring to the horizon in a carelessly charming way—and Farina scowled.

"Don't get any ideas, Florina! I'm just staying here for a couple of days to stock up on supplies so I can get back to Ilia."

The tiniest trace of a sly smile played about Florina's lips. "If you say so, sister."

Farina gave her sibling a small, playful shove. "Move on back to Caelin, half-pint. Say hello to Lady Lyn and the rest for me."

"I will." Florina hugged her sister tightly before climbing upon her Pegasus. "Goodbye, Farina! Goodbye, L-Lord Hector!"

And then she was off, soaring towards the setting sun until she was only a black speck within its molten orange radiance. Farina stared after her for a moment, and then at Hector—his chiseled face glowed healthily in the waning light, stray wisps of blue hair fell into his face…he was watching Florina fly away, but when he felt Farina's gaze he turned to face her.

"What?" he asked irritably.

"Nothing," Farina answered roughly. Without another word, she mounted Murphy and streaked down to the stables.

* * *

_He was running through a forest, searching, searching…moonlight dripped through the trees like water and flooded the leaf-strewn path beneath him. His eyes darted left and right, desperate for just a glimpse, just a flash of blue…he reached a wide clearing, bereft of nothing but moonlight and starlight and the fantastical light of fireflies. She was in this clearing, standing with her back to him. Eliwood ran towards her, relief surging through his body__._

_"Ninian!" he called. "There you are!"_

_She turned then, nearly knocking him breathless with one glance from her wide, garnet eyes. She was surprised that he was there, that much was plain to see, but she did not resist when he swept her up in his arms and crushed her against his chest. _

_"Oh, Ninian," he sighed, stroking her long waterfall of hair, "I'm so glad I found you…" _

_"Y-you were looking for me, my lord?" she stammered confusedly. _

_"Of course." Eliwood rested his cheek on the top of her head. "Bandits and morphs could roam these woods, just waiting for a chance to attack our camp…you should never go walking alone, especially not at night!" _

_"I am s-so sorry, my lord," Ninian squeaked, trying to pull out of his arms to curtsey or some other such subservient nonsense. Eliwood did not let her, but merely held her all the tighter. _

_"Do not apologize," he breathed, "All is well…"_

_"Lord Eliwood…" Ninian whispered back happily. _

_He looked down at her then, to try and give her a kiss, that first kiss they were doomed to never share…and gave a start to find her covered in bright, florid blood. His hands, caressing her so absentmindedly, had turned into blades…and with every touch, he cut her. He tried to scramble away, but Ninian sank back into his arms with a moan of pain, only wounding herself further. _

_"Lord Eliwood," she gasped, uttering his name again. Her crimson eyes were full of tears, flooded with confusion and despair. Eliwood cried out, pushed her away, fled from her weeping and bloodied form. But no matter how far he ran, he heard her lamenting as clearly as if she was still in his arms:_

_"You said you would protect me! Lord Eliwood! Eliwood!" _

"Eliwood!"

Someone was shaking his shoulder. Eliwood snapped bolt-upright in bed, instinctively flinching away from the person.

"Don't touch me!" he cried, "I'll hurt you!"

"Eliwood, Eliwood!" the voice repeated, like a rider trying to bring their horse under control. "It's okay! You're awake!"

_Awake? _

Eliwood froze at the word, chest heaving as he gasped for air, cold sweat dripping into his eyes. Slowly he turned to make out the dark silhouette of a girl, standing by his bedside. She reached out a hand to touch his shoulder. He forced it away, still trapped within that hypnopompic world between sleeping and waking, and whimpered, "Please, forgive me! I didn't mean to--"

"What?" The girl curled her hand back to her side. "Oh, Eliwood…shh, you were only dreaming…"

The girl's familiar voice pierced through the fog surrounding him, the remnants of his nightmares. Now more assertive, she rested her hand on his shoulder, skimming her thumb over the tense muscles beneath his soft shirt until he gradually relaxed.

"A dream," Eliwood repeated in a murmur, covering his face with a hand_. It's Della. Della is at my side once more, and everything is going to be alright_. "…Just a dream."

"That's right," she murmured comfortingly. "You're okay now."

Eliwood was very aware of how warm his shoulder had grown beneath her gentle hand. He felt himself blush slightly as he recalled how that hand had felt against his bare skin just a few days ago, when she had seen him shirtless in the armory. Although it had hardly been an indecent moment…it was _scientific_, the way her fingers had brushed against his chest, the way her eyes had scanned him up and down—tender as it had seemed, it was still scientific. She was trying to prove something, and what that was, he did not know. He should have chalked the surprisingly sensitive moment up to another of her odd experiments…and yet, he had been aware at the time of something that was certainly not experimental. There was a glimpse of emotion that he caught beneath the cool surface of her scholarly eyes—a gaze of warm wonder. That soft expression—along with the way her touch had made him shiver—had stayed with him constantly. It was as if a barrier between them, one he didn't even know existed, had broken. The past few days, Eliwood had been making any excuse to see her, talk to her, _touch _her…and he had a hunch that she had been doing the same. The hand still on his shoulder was proof enough of that. The question was _why._

"Della…" Eliwood began. She looked at him—he choked down his query and began a different, more relevant one. "What are you doing in my room?"

"I was actually going back to _my _room from a quest for a midnight snack," the tactician retorted. "When I passed by your room, though…I could hear you." Her voice lowered. "You were crying out in your sleep, tossing and turning…having a horrible nightmare. So…I decided I'd wake you up and free you from it."

"Elimine," Eliwood whispered. "Thank you…that dream, it was…" He shook his head, unable to speak of it.

"Are you good now?"

Eliwood took a deep breath and nodded. "Yes. I'm fine. You have my gratitude, Della."

"No problem." The tactician turned as if to leave, hesitated, then turned back. "…This…is why you're always so tired, isn't it," she guessed softly.

"Yes," the marquess answered in a murmur.

"You've been afraid to sleep, for months now…because you keep having nightmares."

"Yes."

"And they're all about Ninian."

"Yes," Eliwood confessed brokenly.

"Have you figured out what to do about them?"

The lord shook his head, defeated. "I have tried several things, but…nothing has worked so far. I've written my dreams down, I've avoided eating before bed, I've tried throwing myself into work to distract myself…" He chuckled bitterly before passing a hand over his eyes, underneath which faint purple circles still lingered as a remnant of his illness. "Well, we both saw how well that _last _one turned out."

"…You know," Della said after a long moment, "As a child, whenever I had a nightmare…I would run up to my mom's bed and sleep with her. It was always a relief to climb into the bed with her and Dad, and the covers were all big and warm…and since I wasn't alone, the fear just evaporated. So the nightmares never came back."

Eliwood gave a dry bark of laughter. "Ha! Imagine that…Pherae's heroic Lord Eliwood, crawling back into his mother's bed because of a bad dream."

"You don't necessarily have to go crying home to mommy," Della retorted, the hint of a smile in her voice. "I just meant that…maybe you need some company, to watch over you as you sleep. To keep the dreams at bay."

"But who would do such a thing for me?" Eliwood sank his chin into his hand. A long moment passed as his tactician retreated within herself, searching for an answer in her usual odd way.

Finally the stillness was broken as Della whispered, "I would."

Eliwood was touched. "Truly?" he asked softly.

"Of course—you're my friend. I would do anything for you, even if it means that later I'll be falling asleep sitting up with my eyes open in physics class. Which is quite plausible. But I'll stay…if you would like me to, that is."

Eliwood looked at her, looked away, opened his mouth, closed it again. He didn't know what to say. He didn't know what to think. Having a girl stay the night in his bed was out of the question, even if she _was _only his friend. But he knew was that if he didn't stop screaming in his sleep, his tactician's empathy would tear her apart…and that he would give anything to escape his terrible, tormenting dreams.

"…Please do," he finally whispered.

Slowly, Della climbed onto his bed and lay down next to him. She stayed atop the covers, probably to allow him some measure of personal space, but that wasn't what Eliwood wanted. He pulled the blankets over her as well, so that he could wrap his arms around her and hold her tightly—noting with immeasurable relief that his embrace didn't draw blood. She turned in his arms so that her back was facing him, her frame fitting strangely well against his own…her presence was a warmth, a comfort, filling him with velvety black peace. After no more than a minute, he had fallen asleep again.

The nightmares did not return.

* * *

It had been quite a long day. Hector had now been talked to death by those two ambassadors from Khathelet, provoked into letting Farina stay in his castle, and fallen upon—again—by Florina and her confounded winged horse. He was ready to just go to bed, for he had, in fact, been looking forward to the end of the day since…well, since the day began.

Therefore, when he opened the door and found Farina stretched out on his bed, clad in a thin white sleeping shift and fiddling with a bauble she had found on his nightstand, Hector almost lost it. He knew Farina well enough to know her intentions about where she was going to spend the night—in fact, he cursed himself for not realizing this sooner.

"Oh, no you don't!" Hector roared, rushing to the bedside. "What do you think you're doing?"

"Sleeping," Farina replied nonchalantly. She set the bauble back down on his bedside table. "Why do you ask?"

"No way!" Hector was quite red in the face—though he wasn't sure if it was because he was angry or because he knew the argument he was about to enter was completely ridiculous. "That's _my _bed!"

"You said I could sleep anywhere in the castle that I wanted to." Farina stretched languorously out across the dark blue covers and closed her eyes.

"I didn't mean _my room!"_

"Then you should be more careful with your words, my lord," the Pegasus rider retorted, one eye opening to glare at him.

"And _you _should haul yourself out of here!"

"Aren't nobles supposed to be the more polite and refined of the bunch?" Farina asked, as devilishly innocent as one could be. "Aren't you supposed to treat those beneath you with generosity and care?"

Hector clenched his fists at his sides. He did not trust himself to speak—he knew the only noise he would make at this point was a furious growl. After a long moment of fighting for self-control, he finally spat,

"Fine. You can stay in the bloody room. Now get off the bed."

Farina's eyes opened wide. "What do you mean?"

"You already took my room, I'm not letting you have the _bed!_" Hector _was _going to stay in his own quarters and sleep on his own pillow, with or without an infuriating roommate—this he swore!

"Why ever not?" Farina snapped. "You haven't got another bed in here, you know!"

"Because this room is only for _one _person!"

"Then get out!"

"It's _my _room!"

"_I'm _the guest!"

"I'M THE MARQUESS OF OSTIA!_"_

"Ostia, land of famously pathetic hospitality," Farina jeered.

There was no way Hector was going to let her win—she had no right to his room, to his things! "Get…off…the…bed," he growled, kneeling on it himself and attempting to log-roll the Pegasus Rider off of its edge.

"No!" Farina grunted, pushing back against Hector with all her strength. She didn't really want the bed that badly, but there was always something about Hector that made her want to do the opposite of whatever he said to do…

They wrestled for a moment, but neither seemed to gain an advantage—Hector was too strong for Farina to move, and Farina was too squirmy for Hector to get a hold on. Finally she thrashed out with her leg, her foot connected solidly with the knee Hector was kneeling on, his leg gave way, and he ended up collapsing on top of her. They both froze like that, flushed, and stared at each other in mild surprise. Farina was baffled by how giddy it made her feel, having the length of Hector's strong body pressed against her own. Hector himself was confused as to why he was suddenly burning inside—heart racing, blood churning, lungs constricting. A silence stretched between them, long and hot and _painfully _awkward.

"…G-get off," Farina said finally, turning her face away. She was blushing quite deeply, now. She made to pry herself out from under him, but Hector wrapped his arms around her and stopped her before she could.

"Wait," he whispered. The sweet ache was still spreading through his limbs. "…Do you feel that, too?"

"I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about." Farina kept her eyes averted.

Hector bit his lip, swallowed hard, and immediately rolled off of her. "Er…of course. I thought I…well, never mind. Sorry about that."

"Eh, that was my fault." Farina smiled casually and tucked a lock of short hair behind her ear, hoping Hector wouldn't notice how badly her hands were shaking. "I shouldn't have kicked you."

Hector sighed, then got to his feet. "What's done is done. Just take the bed. Goodnight."

"No," Farina said suddenly. "Hector…I didn't really want the bed, anyway. I was just teasing you—just being difficult."

"Like always?" Hector asked, smiling slightly. It was hard not to notice how handsome he looked, his lips pulled into a rare expression of calm.

"Yeah." Farina laughed a bit. "I…I'm sorry. You can have your bed back."

"Nah, you take it." Hector grabbed a richly embroidered blanket—draped carelessly over the back of an armchair—and made for the couch on the other side of the room.

"B-but—"

"You're the guest, aren't you?" the lord asked irritably.

"Yeah, but—"

"So take it!"

"But you're the Marquess!"

"But you're a woman. And I happen to know how to treat women with respect. Um…sort of. So take the blasted bed!"

"But it's yours!"

"I'm letting you have it!"

"After you made such a fuss about getting it?"

"It wasn't worth it!"

"Obviously it was!"

_"Take the bed and shut your mouth!"_

_"I'm not going to!"_

Hector glared at Farina from the couch, lips compressed.

"Fine," said Farina after a moment, "I'll shut up now. I'll take the bed, and go to sleep. I'm sorry that I always cause trouble…that's just how I am, I suppose. But I'll be leaving tomorrow, so you won't have much longer to deal with me. Goodnight, Lord Hector."

And with that, she blew out the candelabra on the nightstand that had been keeping his room lit with cheerful golden light. As Hector was plunged into darkness, he wrapped his blanket about himself and could hear Farina sliding beneath the covers of his bed. He was silent for a long moment.

"You're not always trouble," he whispered suddenly, impulsively, the words piercing through the night-filled room.

"I am so," she hissed back. "Don't lie."

"Mmm. Alright, you _are _always trouble." Hector smirked and closed his eyes. "But that's…pretty fun. It's usually worth it…"

"Fun?" murmured Farina. "You're…mad."

"Am not…" Hector protested sleepily. "_You're _mad."

"No, youare."

"No, _you _are…"

"No…it's you…"

"Is not…"

"Is too…" Farina's last, weary comeback was in vain—Hector let out a snore, having already fallen asleep. Farina couldn't help but grin as she snuggled deeper into his vast bed and slipped into dreams:

_Haha…I won._

* * *

It was a hot day.

Kent was not sure how the weather was in Lycia, or other parts of Elibe…all he knew was at that moment, on that day, Sacae was _hot._

Granted, that might have been because he was wearing full armor and had been out of water for nearly a day…but there was little Kent could do about that. Shedding his armor was doing away with his protection and his identity as an honorable knight of Caelin, and the lack of water—though quite a problem—only affected himself. At least his horse was able to keep itself hydrated…he had learned from a man at one of the trading posts by the border of Sacae that the Sacaean horses received most of the water they needed from the long, lush grasses of the plains. Though Gareth was hardly a Sacaean horse, he managed to absorb enough nutrients to get by on…

Kent gnawed his lip as he recalled another bit of advice that the man at the trading post had given him: that he was a complete idiot for venturing into Sacae by himself, for he was a Lycian and therefore notoriously despised throughout the entire country. Of course, even that grim bit of knowledge couldn't keep him from galloping into the plains…he was doing this for Lyndis. It was absolutely imperative that he learned at least a few of the traditions of her people.

As he rode along, Kent desperately tried to think of how he could find Rath. He knew that their heritage had forged a close bond between his lady and the quiet nomad…Lyn had talked to Kent about all her friends and one point or another, and that included Rath. All Kent could remember, unfortunately, was the name of Rath's tribe—which he had little idea of how to locate, and even less idea of how to pronounce.

As he was thinking this, he realized that there were faint black dots against the horizon. He blinked the sweat out of his eyes and looked again to find that the images were quite real. After a while it became apparent that they were scouting horsemen. Kent wasn't sure whether to be wary or relieved…so he kept his sword sheathed, but within easy reach. Gareth plodded along steadily.

The scouts reached him after a while, and quickly circled him—Kent blanched to find several arrows nocked in his direction. He released the reins and raised his hands up, palms outward, to show that he meant no harm.

"Er…hello," he began nervously.

One scout glared at him, fingers tightening on the bowstring. Kent was aware of sharp eyes examining his clearly Lycian outfit. "What are you doing on our land?"

"I do not mean to intrude," Kent assured them. "I seek aid from a certain Sacaean…would any of you, by chance, know where I may find Rath of the Kutolah tribe?"

One scout snickered as Kent's tongue stumbled clumsily over the word.

"We do not concern ourselves with the affairs of the Kutolah," another responded disdainfully.

"But might you have at least some idea of where they are?" Kent asked, becoming desperate. "Please—this is very important. I must find them. I am low on water, and if I am to be wed, I must—"

"Wed?" a third Sacaean snorted. "Why should we care about your wedding? How does that begin to explain why a Lycian such as yourself would be wandering alone about our home?"

"Because my bride is Sacaean," retorted Kent. "She is Lady Lyndis of…" He cut himself off and began again. "Her name is Lyn. She is a daughter of the Lorca tribe."

The scouts erupted into horrified whisperings.

"Lyn?"

"Of the Lorca?"

"But they were massacred nearly two years ago!"

"This is true," Kent said loudly, to make himself heard. "That is why I am here. The custom of my people dictates that I buy her a ring, but the custom of _her _people was that I make her a bracelet. Therefore, I must learn to weave it, so that I might honor her heritage at the same time as I accept her into mine. I was hoping that her friend, Rath of the Kutolah, could teach me."

The riders around him looked at each other incredulously, but Kent refused to back down. He held himself rigidly until one of the scouts rode right up alongside him and looked him in the eye.

"One of _your _kind would actually marry one of us?" he sneered. "Are you not afraid that her Sacaean blood will taint your line?"

"She is proud of her blood," Kent retorted fiercely, matching his gaze. "As am I."

The horsemen were silent for a long time. Finally a young scout in the back hesitantly spoke.

"…The Kutolah. We have seen them. Only yesterday, we passed by their camp. It was over in that direction."

The lad pointed to the horizon and pretended not to notice the subtle glares his companions sent him. Kent felt hope flare within him, and smiled at the boy. "Thank you."

"Don't mention it," an older man replied steadily. With a hand gesture, he commanded the scouts to commence their ride. As his horse picked up speed, he turned back and shouted, "Good luck!" to Kent.

The red knight was touched. As tired and hot as he and Gareth were, it was suddenly no longer difficult to gallop off towards the horizon.

* * *

As Heath stepped into the vast stables of Priscilla's manor, he was assaulted with a gust of wind and a hearty roar. His wyvern, obviously sick of being cooped up in a barn for so long, had soared down from the loft—since the horse stalls were far too small for him to roost in, he had made himself comfortable in the loft and rafters of the place—and landed with a _thud! _before his rider. He roared again, with delight and excitement…and right into Heath's face.

The Rider couldn't help but laugh as his steed's hot breath tousled his hair, and as the horses whinnied nervously in their stalls. He lovingly stroked the scales upon his wyvern's nose, reaching his other arm up to embrace it around its slender neck.

"Did you miss me, Hyperion?" he murmured. "It's been quite a while since we've flown…"

Hyperion gurgled deep in his throat in response. Heath felt himself smile again.

He had felt so restless in Caerleon…there was no one to fight, no place to go, nothing to do but try and act proper around Priscilla's parents. He itched to get off of the ground and _fly _somewhere, if only for a moment. It wasn't as if he was willing to leave Priscilla—it was quite the opposite, in fact, for leaving the woman he loved would destroy him--but he was still a rebel, still wild at heart, and every so often he needed somewhere to _go._

That day, he had decided to give Hyperion a chance to stretch his wings...and award the same chance to his soul. There was also a dark part within him, filled with suspicion and dread, that wanted to use his time in the air to scout in case Wyverns of Bern were in the area…ones that wanted his skull on a platter to bring back to his patria, proof of what happens to traitors. Heath was sure that they were still searching for him.

The problem was getting out of Caerleon to scout without Priscilla noticing—for if she saw him leave, she would want to come too. And although Heath would have liked nothing better than to spend another day with her, deep within he still felt so scrambled up. He didn't know where he belonged or even who he was, anymore…all he knew that he would have to fix himself before he could ever hope to give himself to Priscilla. What use could she have for such a tangled-up man? How could she know him if he didn't even know himself?

He was faintly glad that Erk had come to stay—reluctant as he was to admit it, the shy mage was excellent company for Priscilla. He had this ability to be around her constantly, whenever she needed him…which was quite obviously due to the fact that he had loved—_still loved?_—her. Since Priscilla got lonely awfully easily, Heath was sure that having Erk around all the time would help her stay happy, especially when he himself was away trying to straighten himself out.

He also trusted that Erk and Priscilla were _only _friends. He knew that Erk would never be so forward as to bring up his old feelings again, and that Priscilla would never accept them, in any case. _Heath_ was the one she had given her heart to, and he intended to keep it for all of eternity. The only problem was finding some claim, some stake in life, so that he could present Priscilla with the lifestyle she deserved. He would have to wait quite a while before proposing to her, certainly…at least until Bern forgot about him…

"Let's find your saddle," he told Hyperion with a sigh. Just then, a shadow filled the doorway and slashed through the light streaming in.

"Heath?" a soft voice asked.

The Wyvern Rider turned, half-guiltily, to see the object of his affections standing there. Autumn sunlight made her crimson hair glow as if it had caught fire, and put a new spark in her eyes as she stared at his steed with disbelief.

"Heath…w-where are you going?"

Her voice was tense and panicked—Heath instantly remembered how terrified and anguished she had been when her brother Raven had abandoned her. She obviously now feared, within some deeply scarred part of her heart, that Heath was doing the same.

"Nowhere, Priscilla," he was quick to assure her, striding across the hay-strewn floor to stroke his fingers down her bare arm. "It's just that Hyperion's gone for weeks now without any real exercise…and I need to fly for a moment. I get fidgety if I stay on the ground too long, you know?"

"I know." She twisted her hands together nervously. "I'm sorry, I just…I worry…"

"Don't. You know that I would never leave you." Heath tucked a lock of bright hair behind her ear and gently pressed his lips to her forehead. "I'll be back before sundown."

"Do I get a kiss goodbye?" she asked, turning her face upwards and gazing at him with those half-lidded, vibrantly green eyes.

It was too much for Heath to resist. He smiled slightly and leaned forward, ready to oblige her—

"Priscilla?" a new voice asked, a light tenor. Immediately afterwards, Erk poked his head into the stable door. He gave a small start to see Heath and Priscilla in the position they were in—her hands on his chest, his mouth an inch from hers—and immediately averted his eyes. "Oh. I-I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to—"

"Erk!" Priscilla exclaimed happily. "Good morning!"

"Good morning," the mage mumbled back. He was blushing, and still refused to look at her. His eyes flickered upward to Heath, who gave a gruff nod, before he immediately cast his gaze back to the ground. After a moment of slightly awkward silence, Heath went back to saddling Hyperion. Priscilla helped here and there, but seemed quite reluctant to do so…and Erk just stood uncomfortably in the doorway, moving only to obligingly step aside as Heath led his wyvern out of the stable and into the field before it.

As the three stood upon the dying grass, a chilly gust of wind suddenly blew past them. Priscilla shivered slightly. Before Heath could say or do anything, Erk had slipped an arm protectively around her shoulders and asked in a low voice,

"Priscilla, are you cold? Do you want my cloak?"

The girl smiled at the mage. "It's nice of you to offer, Erk, but I can make it back into the house."

Heath looked at Erk for a long moment, eyes narrowed. The mage broke eye contact quickly, but kept his arm around Priscilla. Heath resisted the urge to scowl—_why be jealous? It only causes problems_--, pecked Priscilla on the cheek, jumped into the saddle, and was off. He could finally smile again as the cool autumn air rushed against his face.

Erk continued to hold Priscilla, who had grown very still as she watched Heath soar away.

"He'll come back soon," she murmured to herself.

"Of course he will," Erk comforted her. _Although he could be gone for a hundred years and still not be gone long enough for my tastes! _he thought with a slight shudder. Heath's glare—mild as it had been—had still unnerved him quite a bit.

The letter he had written to Serra had been sent days ago…he wished he had a reply, but regretfully realized that she had probably only just got it. He supposed he would just have to wing it and try to weather out such awkward moments as best he could until he got some more advice. He couldn't believe that he was actually looking _forward _to a letter from Serra.

"We should go inside," he murmured to Priscilla.

She leaned against him slightly, still staring at the speck in the sky that had once been the solid, grounded Heath. "Yes. Let's go."

* * *

The next morning dawned cool and bright over Ostia. The harvest celebrations continued in the streets, Matthew snuck down into the city to linger by the food stalls and see just how many snacks would "accidentally stick" to his fingers, Serra received a letter, and Hector awoke without realizing where he was.

After a couple of moments, it hit him—he was on his couch, not his bed. _Farina _was in the bed, the silky blue sheets tangled around her, and her hair tousled and splayed across the pillows. She sure looked a lot more low-maintenance when she was asleep. Hector smiled slightly.

He quietly gathered up his clothes and moved into an adjacent chamber to change…but when he returned to his sleeping chamber, he found that Farina had risen and changed as well.

"I suppose you'll be leaving today," he remarked, stretching his arms above his head and not bothering to cover a yawn.

Farina was folding her sleeping gown so that she could pack it up. "Don't sound so happy about it. Besides, I'm not leaving right away—I plan to go down and see what all the hoopla about this Harvest Festival is for."

"You're going down to the Festival?" Hector asked, surprised.

"Why not? Matthew's been down there for hours already."

"Matthew…" Hector muttered. He wondered how much food the rogue had already managed to steal…and also wondered if he would share…

"Are you going, too?"

"Me?" Hector asked, blinking as Farina's voice brought him out of his reverie. "Umm…why would I go?"

It was Farina's turn to be confused. "Isn't that what the leader of a place is supposed to do? Go down and mingle with the people and whatnot? Take part in their lives?"

"Now that's a concept," Hector mused. "Too bad I have too many duties _within _the castle to ever get _out _of it."

"I'd say that studying your citizens is a very important duty," Farina argued.

Hector shrugged. "You have a point. You could also say that it would be fun to ditch my paperwork, sneak past Oswin, and enjoy myself for a day."

"Why, Lord Hector!" Farina reprimanded hotly, "That's a terrible thing to say! Surely you would never be so irresponsible! However…" She began walking towards the door of his room, casting a sly glance over her shoulder. "I'm sure you wouldn't be too busy to, er…take your guest on a short morning stroll through the gardens?"

"If by 'gardens', you mean 'side gate that leads to the main street of the city', then I'm all for it," Hector muttered as he followed her out.

Farina grinned up at him. "Did we actually agree on something?"

"I suppose so!" Hector chuckled back. "We can get along when we're _both _out to cause trouble, eh?"

The two walked out to the grounds together, side-by-side next to flower beds full of dead petals and willow trees that were losing their leaves. On a marble step of the white walkway, with her back to them, Serra sat with her letter and muttered to herself.

"It sure sounds like Erk needs some help," she sighed once she had finished reading it. "But what can I do? Any letter I write would take a week to get to him, even if I sent it today!" She gave an angry huff, puffing out her cheeks, and scowled. "There _must _be a faster way."

"And so there is!" a voice sounded from behind her. Before Serra could react, Erk's letter was snatched out of her hand, and the voice teasingly added, "Though the price of such a fast way is five hundred gold per trip."

Serra turned to see Farina standing over her, holding Erk's furled-up letter like a baton and smiling cockily. Hector stood behind the Pegasus Rider, eying the two women with confusion.

"Farina!" Serra squeaked, her eyes widening. "Are you serious? You'll really…deliver that letter for me?"

"I'll do anything for the right money," the Pegasus Rider replied, loftily twirling Erk's letter around her fingers.

"Don't say things like that!" Hector abruptly snapped at her, sounding almost flustered.

Farina shot him a curious look. "Why ever not?"

"Because it makes you sound like…no, just forget it." The big lord turned his face away…but not before Serra saw the red tinge spreading across it.

"Lord Hector, are you _blushing?_" the cleric screeched in accusation, completely baffled.

"No!" Hector instantly denied.

"What were you going to say?" pressed Serra.

"Nothing!"

"You were, too!" Farina jumped in. "I said I'd do anything for money…and then you told me not to say that because I sounded like…_what_?"

"I told you, it's nothing!"

"Come on, say it!"

"No!"

"Why won't you just—"

"Because I don't want to call you a _whore_!" Hector roared, finally turning to face her.

Farina froze. Her mouth dropped open, her eyes widened, and her eyebrows lowered until an expression of perfect indignation had settled over her face. "Lord _Hector_," she finally forced out in angry disbelief.

"What?" Hector retorted defensively. "You want money constantly. Everyone has heard tales of what women do when desperate, when they have no means to provide for themselves but to—"

"I am _not_ _desperate_!" Farina shouted, now blushing quite heavily herself. She flung Erk's letter to the ground.

"I know that! That's why I didn't want to say what I just said! Because I know it isn't true! But when you go around _saying _things like that—"

"Maybe you just have a dirty mind!"

"Oh, fine!" Hector retorted sarcastically. "Caring for your reputation means I have a dirty mind! But of _course_!"

"Stay out of my business!" Farina yelled back. She was up on her tiptoes now, her face inches from Hector's, without any recollection of how they had gotten so close to each other. "I make my own reputation, thank you very much! And I'll have you know that my morals are _far _too high to stoop to such a profession—I'd rather starve!"

"That's just it!" Hector cried. "Your morals! Aren't they the reason you're so obsessed with money in the first place? _You _might be fine starving, but what if it's Florina that's going hungry? Or Fiora? You would do _anything _for them, wouldn't you?"

Farina closed her mouth with a snap, unable to retort. He was right, and she knew it. She would be willing to sacrifice even her honor, if it would help one of her sisters.

"So you've proven your point," she finally said softly, icily. "I have the full potential to be a slut. So I should steer clear of any implication of that, lest others see what you do."

"Th-that wasn't my point!" Hector bristled. For the first time in his life, he felt completely mortified. _This conversation has gone in the COMPLETE wrong direction! _He took a deep breath, then raked a hand through his short blue hair. "Look," he said bluntly, "If you want the truth…I admire your morals. Despite your lust for gold, you're really the most selfless person I've ever met. And you're certainly not _desperate_. You're brave and strong and can succeed all on your own. But…just…be careful with what you say, okay?"

At that moment, Farina didn't have anything to say at all. She stared at Hector, into his eyes, and was silent for a very long time. Hector just looked back, fearlessly. There was something intense in their gaze…a blurry and vivid mixture of rage and confusion and wonder…and something else, something that was very clear to Serra—who had been sitting on the step, quite forgotten up to that point.

"Hmmm," she said slyly, before grabbing Erk's letter from where it had fallen to the grassy ground and opening it to read it once more.

An alarum suddenly sounded—Hector wrenched his gaze from Farina's and found that a page was sprinting towards him.

"Visitors at the front gates for you, milord!" the boy gasped. "Lady Lyndis and Sir Sain of Caelin!"

"_What_?" Hector, Farina, and Serra asked at the same time. As one, the three of them rushed off to greet their friends. By the time they arrived at the front gates, workers were already pushing at the huge cranks that opened the immense oaken doors. Hector had to fight to keep from laughing as Lyn and Sain rode into his walls.

"You crazy woman!" he roared as Lyn dismounted from her horse, instantly sweeping her into a hug. "I should have known that by the time I got your letter asking for permission to stay, you would already be halfway here!"

"Of course you should have known that, you big oaf!" Lyn responded with a wide grin as she returned the tight embrace.

"Beauteous Farina!" Sain gasped from his horse. "You are here, in scenic Ostia? Why, this must be fate! We, star-crossed lovers, should—"

"Hey," Hector suddenly growled, releasing Lyn. "If your knight is going to stay here, he's going to behave himself."

Sain glanced bewilderedly between Hector and Farina before catching sight of Serra. "Oh! What radiant dawn breaks o'er yonder! My heart sings with wonder at your presence, lovely Serra!"

Lyn covered her face with a hand. "Hector, he doesn't know _how _to behave himself."

The lord laughed slightly. "Too bad none of Kent rubbed off on him, huh?"

"Too bad," Lyn echoed, smiling faintly.

Hector peered down at her, a tad concerned. "You miss him, don't you?" he accused.

"Of course I miss him!" Lyn retorted. "Every second of every day! And as if it's not enough that I'm _aching _without him, I also have to _worry _about him because he's off all by himself and—"

"Calm down." Hector casually draped an arm around her shoulders. "You're here to relax and find some company, remember? So stop your nonsense. I'm sure that Kent is fine."

* * *

Kent was not fine.

And to think, finding the Kutolah tribe had been the greatest of his worries a few hours ago…? Well, that was no longer the case.

Kent had found the Kutolah tribe. And they were not happy about this.

The moment he had gotten close enough to see their camp, he was instantly circled by all manner of trained warriors on horseback—mostly archers, but there were quite a few swordsmen in their ranks as well. They had not questioned him or listened to the words he was quickly forcing out, but merely seized him and dragged him off of his horse before he had a chance to draw his own weapon. After binding his hands behind his back with a coarse length of rope, they led him into camp and threw him to the ground before a muscular, silver-haired figure that he could only assume was the tribe's leader.

"A Lycian?" the chief asked, one eyebrow raised scornfully.

"Please," Kent choked out, trying and failing to sit up, "You must listen to me. I mean no harm, I am here because of Lyn—"

"What do we do with him, sir?" a warrior standing beside Kent asked as he leaned upon a wickedly sharp sword.

"He has invaded our lands," the chief responded, his eyes harsh. "We might as well kill him—he is alone, and shall not be missed."

"No!" Kent gasped. His eyes darted about frantically for a way to escape—and landed upon the familiarly tall and grim figure standing behind the chief. "Rath! That's you, isn't it, Rath?"

The man stepped forward, and for the briefest of moments his stoic face hardened even further. Fear raced through Kent's veins. _Why doesn't he recognize me? Why won't he help me?_

"Rath! Please! I am here because of Lyn!"

The sound of the woman's name seemed to hit Rath like a physical blow. "Wait," he commanded sharply. The chief looked up at him in surprise. "Father—I know this man." He walked over to Kent, slowly, leisurely. Kent had to squint against the bright Sacaean sun as he stared up into Rath's face.

"What are you doing here, Kent?"

"I am here because of Lyn," Kent rasped again. "I need to learn how to make a bracelet for her."

At the mention of the bracelet, Rath visibly paled beneath his swarthy skin. He had quickly arrived at the conclusion that Kent was going to marry Lyn. His fists clenched as his sides; Kent could see his body trembling, his eyes turning fierce and spiteful. Finally Rath turned to his father and growled,

"Do with him what you will."

With one last withering glance of loathing in Kent's direction, Rath turned his back on the fallen knight and walked into the nearest tent. Kent felt panic mount within him.

"Wait—what?! No! Rath, I—"

Something heavy descended upon his skull. Darkness rained upon his consciousness, and Kent blacked out.

* * *

_A/N: Oh noez. I'm taking a lot more liberties with this story than I did with __Not Yet Finished__...delving into Sacaean cultures that I'm completely making up and whatnot (YES, I will explain all that next chapter). I hope that's okay with you guys. I also fear that Hector and Farina are too…well, I don't know. I personally like each of their scenes together in this chapter, but it still feels all-over-the-place to me. Your insight on such matters of interaction and pace would be greatly appreciated…_

_Oh. And falling asleep sitting up with one's eyes open in science class? Yeah, that's totally possible. Trust me. _

_Hopefully I'll have the next chapter up soon :-D. It's probably going to be shorter than this one…(but then again, what ISN'T?)_


	12. Pain

_A/N: Alright. From now on, I'm never making any promises about chapter length ever again. It's impossible. To think…I thought I'd never top a 20 page chapter, so I told you I'd write a shorter one, and here I am with one that's THIRTY-ONE pages! How utterly inconceivable…I'll have the next chapter out before you can even finish this one! _

_Also…time constraints within this story are becoming increasingly more difficult to keep track of. I tried…and it kind-of didn't work xD. I alternate scenes in my own twisted schematics of important-ness (quite different from "importance", I'll have you know), and I try to be mindful of how to switch interest, so I must apologize if they are not entirely chronological—although, rest assured, they all happen about a day or so apart if they do not take place at the same moment as the previous scene. It shouldn't actually disrupt anything at all, but for all you detail-oriented people out there…;-)._

_Oh! And so you know—the scene with Priscilla and Heath, later on? It's SUPPOSED to be full of run-on sentences and incoherency and whatnot. I was experimenting with…beat poetry xD._

_**Chapter 12—Pain**_

"I'm not tired."

Della's exhausted, mumbly voice was muffled by the thick blanket she had tucked up to her chin. Eliwood sighed exasperatedly from where he lay beside her, one arm draped loosely over her waist. He could clearly remember enough about the day to disprove her statement.

Ever since that first night, when it had been proven that her presence could keep his nightmares at bay, the two had reached an unspoken agreement that Della would continue to sleep at Eliwood's side. Obviously she made _him_ feel better as he drifted off…and he thought that perhaps—if he wasn't imagining it—he made _her _feel more secure, in some deep and personal corner of her soul that he was sure she would never share with him. However, there were many complications to sharing a room, as Eliwood was quick to learn.

Dressing wasn't usually an issue. Della brought her clothes for the next day in each night and draped them over a chair, hiding in an adjacent chamber—such as his study—to change. The fact that she woke an hour before him and he was usually still asleep when she dressed helped as well. When he finally woke, she was generally already buried in some book she had discovered in said study and he didn't have to worry about her walking in as he changed into his own clothes. The _biggest _issue they would have to face was getting _out _of the room without anybody noticing.

Eliwood had realized on the dawn of the first day that it would look highly questionable if the two were to walk out together—so early in the morning, eyes still drooping, hair still messy. Therefore, he had made it a rule that he was to leave the room first and Della was to wait twenty minutes before even peeking out the door, so that it would look to any passerby like she was searching for him and found that he had already gone down to breakfast. The hopelessly naïve tactician had seemed a little confused by this order—since Eliwood hadn't explained exactly why he had implemented it—but he knew it was for the best. Of course they hadn't done anything _improper_…they were asleep, for Elimine's sake! Still, Eliwood knew that if anyone were to find them together, rumors would spread faster than a fire in the wind. He didn't want that kind of burden upon his reputation, and _especially _not upon Della's. He couldn't stand the thought of her name being sullied, not the name of that unbelievably innocent, sweet, _deliriously tired _tactician…!

That particular morning, as Eliwood had been eating his breakfast, Della had stumbled into the dining room after her twenty minutes had elapsed. Eliwood had glanced up from his plate to note with surprise that his tactician looked…_awful_. There were bruise-colored rings beneath her bleary eyes, her lips were pale, her green tunic was rumpled, and her hands shook as she reached for the pitcher of milk. Eliwood, though concerned, had duties to attend to as marquess, so after squeezing her shoulder in a silent gesture of pity and support, he left her sitting at the table and hoped that she would be feeling better by the afternoon.

Apparently she had been more drained than he had thought. When he met up with her again for lunch, she wouldn't—or couldn't--keep her eyes focused on him when he was speaking to her. Eventually she had just fallen asleep sitting up, her head plopping face-first into her food. And if that wasn't enough, she had sprinted down the hallway to wake herself up and threw herself into whatever tactical work she had to do that day until well past midnight! It was only a moment ago that she had collapsed, shaking from want of sleep, into his bed—and even _that _was only because he had finally ordered her to.

"Not tiiiired," the girl grumbled again.

"Della," Eliwood told her dryly, "Believe me when I tell you that you are very, _very _tired."

"Don't…wanna go to sleep…"

Eliwood sighed again. "But you _must_. Don't you see that you're hurting yourself?"

"So much…to do…"

"And you won't ever get it done if you don't get some rest," the lord informed her with finality.

"Don't wanna _reeeeeessssttt_…" she moaned.

"What else to you expect to do?" Eliwood demanded. "Lie here and whistle drinking songs and count the threads in the coverlet?"

"Well, we could talk or something." Della yawned again. "I'll whistle Charlie Mops…tomorrow night."

"Talk?" asked Eliwood bewilderedly. "What's the point of talking when we're about to fall asleep?"

"But nighttime is the best time to talk!" Della protested. "On band trips…it was always dark, by the time we were heading home…too dark to do anything…so we would talk…and by now I know absolutely _everything _about those friends. Their fears and goals…their most embarrassing moments…why they love each other…why they hate themselves…who they would give their life for…_everything." _

"I should think that the two of us are already pretty close," Eliwood told her, though he wasn't quite sure what a "band trip" was.

"But there's stuff about you I don't know!"

"Like what?"

"Like…did you…always want to be a marquess? Or are you only into it 'cause you have no other choice?"

Eliwood smiled as he thought back to his childhood. "Actually…I always _have _wanted to rule Pherae. I remember growing up and watching my father…and I wanted nothing more than to be like him. I was so eager to learn about history, to read about legislature…" He chuckled. "Hector used to tease me about how much I enjoyed our lessons."

"What a boring dork." Della turned in his arms so that she was facing him. "It's typical that you'd enjoy your own destiny."

"I can't say I've enjoyed _all _of it," Eliwood said darkly, instantly remembering the war. It had been his destiny to stop _that_, too—to throw himself into the blood-soaked chaos and kill others for the sake of something as fragile as peace. He shook his head to clear such thoughts and looked back at Della. "And what about you—did you always want to be a tactician?"

"Hardly," Della snorted. "I have no logic skills, and no great love of war…"

"So why did you follow this path?" asked Eliwood softly.

Della smiled through the darkness. "It was my cousin's fault, actually…he referred the game to me."

"What?"

"Er, my cousin," Della continued quickly, "was much older and braver than I, and so he would always go off on awesome adventures. Because I looked up to him so much, I would always try to follow. And one day…" her voice hushed reverently. "One day he came back from his travels and told me tales of a wonderful place called Lycia. He told me he had taken a job as a tactician and had done so many things, met so many people…and that I absolutely had to try it for myself. He told me I would love it."

"And did you?"

Della smiled. "More than I should've."

The fact that she was talking about her family—no matter how vaguely—felt to Eliwood as if he was being shown the door to her so rarely-discussed past, and he seized the knob with hope. "So this cousin of yours, he was also a—?"

"No, no!" Della interrupted. "Now it's my turn to ask you a question! That's how it works! It's Talking, Truth-or-Truth, the Question Game!"

Eliwood blinked. "…Alright then. What else do you want to ask?"

"Umm…how do you feel…about…global warming?"

"Della," Eliwood told her with a sigh, "Don't think I don't know that this is just a plot to keep yourself awake—although Elimine knows why you don't want to sleep!"

"I love plots," Della said quietly, sounding rather like a child with hurt feelings.

"But you need to go to _bed_." Eliwood realized wearily that he sometimes felt more like her father than her friend.

"But isn't this fun? Aren't we learning?"

"Yes, we are," he said, his fingers grazing her cheek, "and we will learn some more _tomorrow. _After we are _rested._"

"Rest is for the weak!"

"You're making me lose sleep too, you know!" Eliwood informed her, ignoring her previous comment. Della looked surprised by this.

"Oh…you're right," she whispered, finally closing her eyes. "I'm so sorry…"

Eliwood smiled as he watched her contrite expression smooth into one of peace. He didn't bother to accept her apology—he knew she had already been dragged down into slumber.

* * *

"…_Well, Serra, you don't know how surprised—and pleased, I must admit—I was to receive your letter so quickly. I was having a spot of trouble the day before, trying to fight through awkward situations, when the next morning Farina suddenly showed up with the newest bit of your Love Guide! Your advice has helped me so very much throughout these past couple of days…Heath went out flying for a day, and when he returned he was much less lethargic than before, so Priscilla has been in better spirits since then. Normally that would concern me, but you had the foresight to warn me about keeping a show of confidence, and Priscilla has yet to neglect time with me in lieu of time with Heath…"_

"BLAST IT, LYN, YOU SPILLED MILK ON MY BREECHES!"

"She wouldn't have dropped the pitcher if you hadn't reached across her for the sugar, Lord Hector!"

"Well, you wouldn't just pass it to me, would you!"

"I would've passed it if you'd _asked _me to, you—"

"Yeah, Hector, you never even said 'please' to Farina!"

"My glorious lady has a point, Lord Hector—why, if beauteous dame Farina had been shown a gentleman's courtesy, she surely would have—"

"Stay out of this, Sain!" a symphony of voices simultaneously snapped.

Serra sighed, tossed Erk's letter onto the table, and narrowed her eyes. Ever since Lyn's arrival in Ostia, breakfast in the castle had become very noisy…

Even noisier than usual.

The fact that Farina was there to join them half the time, when she was delivering letters from Erk, only made things worse. Serra sighed again and stood up, trying to make herself noticed to the people seated far down at the other end of the table.

Serra was not noticed. Hector was busy shooting to his feet to escape from the waterfall of milk dripping into his lap, Lyn and Farina were busy glaring daggers at him from where they sat across from him, Sain was busy "staying out of this" lest his "glorious lady" beat him over the head with her sword, and Matthew—who hadn't spoken a word as of yet--was busy trying not to laugh.

"Simply barbaric!" Serra sniffed, causing the three hot-tempered ones at the end of the table to finally glance her way. "Can't a body have a peaceful breakfast?"

"I suppose you're right, Serra," said Lyn with a sigh, tucking a strand of emerald hair behind her ear. "We are being too loud for so early in the morning. There's no use crying over spilled milk."

"I didn't cry!" Hector protested, but he could not keep from grinning. He brushed his knuckles past Lyn's chin in a very light punch. Farina's scowl darkened slightly.

Serra raised her eyebrows as she noticed this, but did not say anything. Instead, she sat back down and reached for her letter from Erk again. Matthew was by her side in an instant.

"Say, what's that?" he asked innocently. "A letter? Oh, how lovely. Who is it from?"

"Nobody!" Serra snapped, quickly plastering it to her chest to hide it from the thief's sharp eyes.

"What's that you say?" Matthew kept talking, as if enjoying a pleasant dialogue rather than a one-sided conversation. "It's a letter from your one true love? Well, whoever could that _be, _Serra?"

"Shut _up_, Matthew!" the cleric growled back.

Matthew looked surprised. "Oh, so you won't tell me? That's alright…I took the liberty of reading your diary—not that I understood much of it, other than quite a lot of babble about a certain purple-haired—"

"NOOO!"

Serra sprung for Matthew, who grinned and nimbly ducked out of her way. The poor cleric ended up diving onto the tabletop instead of onto the sandy-headed thief, sending plates and cups and bowls of food flying—no, falling—no, smashing onto the floor.

Hector surveyed the new mess with dismay. "…Can I cry over this?"

"So much for a peaceful breakfast," Lyn muttered.

Serra slowly, gingerly, picked herself up from the table and maneuvered herself back to the floor, trying to burn holes into Matthew with her eyes the whole way. Aside from a streak of jam on her arm, she hadn't gotten too messy…but Erk's letter, which had landed in a bowl full of oatmeal, had not been so lucky. Serra picked it up, dripping mush everywhere, and felt her eyes fill with tears.

"Matthew, I wasn't finished reading yet! I ought to give you a peace of my mind, you big fat—"

"Exactly what I wanted!" Matthew exclaimed delightedly, grabbing her hand and whisking the baffled cleric out of the dining room. "A piece of your mind? It's like Yule has come early to me!"

Hector stared after them, one eyebrow raised, as the thief's voice faded away. The room was quite silent, until Sain gave a theatrical sigh and stood up.

"I suppose I shall go aid our fair and lively healer," he declared, puffing out his chest and glancing in Farina's direction. "I suppose _someone _around here has to be heroic and gentlemanly!"

With that, he strutted out of the room like a preening peacock, Hector glaring at his back until he had disappeared from view.

"He was trying to impress you," he grumbled to Farina, turning his gaze to her.

She smiled flirtatiously—just a reflex, of course, for one of her wit—and asked, "You jealous?"

Obviously realizing that she was joking, Hector did not snap at her. He just blushed very slightly and averted his eyes.

"So who wrote that letter to Serra?" Lyn asked, cocking her head to the side in curiosity.

"Erk," Farina answered for Hector. "He's trying to woo Priscilla—poor sap—and Serra has been trying to help him. Hector's paying me to deliver the letters from Ostia to Caerleon, since I'm the only one fast enough to get that dweeb the help he needs before he dies from his lack of social skills." She laced her fingers together and rested her chin on top of them, looking at Hector. "That was pretty generous of you, you know. To pay in Serra's stead because she didn't have much gold."

"It's only money," said Hector with a careless shrug. Farina's eyebrows shot up. Lyn was still staring at the door to the hallway as if she could see through it and catch a glimpse of Serra, Sain, and Matthew.

"I wonder why Matthew is so interested in this whole thing?" she murmured thoughtfully.

Hector snorted, replying, "As if _I _ever know what he's doing!"

"I suppose you wouldn't," Lyn agreed as she leaned back in her chair. "You hardly even know what _you're _doing, most of the time."

"Watch your words," Hector warned, picking up the now half-empty pitcher of milk and starting to tip it threateningly in Lyn's direction, "or I might just return the favor!"

"Hector!" Lyn yelped, grabbing his wrist to stop him. Hector just grinned and moved the fingers of his free hand to her ribs. She gave a shriek of laughter and squirmed out of the chair, attacking Hector's sides in turn. After setting down the pitcher to avoid yet _another _mess, the two began a tickle-duel, poking and dodging and laughing.

Farina sighed and sank her cheek into her hand as she watched them. She wondered why they were able to touch each other so easily, why they did not seem affected by the other's presence…for wasn't that something Hector was able to do, something he was born with? The ability to send shivers through somebody by letting his skin meet theirs? Farina had thought that was the case…even the slightest touch, such as when their hands had brushed reaching for the same piece of toast earlier, had filled her with electricity. _That _was why she hadn't passed the sugar when he had asked her to, resulting in the milk all over the table—she hadn't wanted to risk another such encounter.

…Why was Lady Lyn so immune to that?

Farina had to look away—she had suddenly become curious, far too curious, about what it would be like to be said lady at that moment…Hector's fingers at her sides and her neck and…

"HEY, NO HAIR PULLING!"

"I wouldn't have pulled it if you hadn't tried to run! It's just instinct to grab whatever I need to keep an enemy close—"

"But my _hair_?That's fighting dirty!"

"It's not my fault that it's so long! You should just cut it off, if you don't want to have this problem!"

"You, Hector of Ostia, are a—"

Hector drowned out her insult and looked at her face, smiling slightly. He was _very _happy to see Lyn once again. She yelled up at him, so very beautiful in that determined anger she possessed…although Hector personally believed that she looked better when happy than when furious. He chanced a glance over at Farina to find her picking at her breakfast, a surly expression upon her face…and, curiously, his smile only widened. Farina _did _look her prettiest when she was angry. So very full of life…

"Are you even listening to me?" Lyn demanded.

"Nope," Hector cheerfully retorted.

The tickling resumed.

Farina blocked out the urge to stare moodily into her cup and instead began throwing toast at Hector. There was no use crying over spilled milk—no use moping over the fact that Hector's hands were all over another woman at the moment. Not like she cared.

Besides. The floor was already a mess.

xOx

"Alright," said Sain in the grandest voice he could muster, striding down the corridor towards Serra and Matthew, "What is all the fuss about?"

Matthew grinned at the green knight. "Why don't you ask Serra about her letter?"

"It's none of your business!" Serra screeched, desperately trying to clean off the soggy piece of parchment in her hand. Sain wrinkled his nose—_St. Elimine, is that _oatmeal?

"My dearest, darling Serra," he crooned, holding a hand out to her, "You seem quite agitated. As the man who cares for you the most, I simply _must _quell your fears and restore that smile to your rose-colored lips--!"

"Give it a rest, Sir Sain," said Matthew as his smile widened. "Serra's already got herself somebody else."

"Somebody else?" Sain repeated, blinking bewilderedly. He stared at Serra for a long moment in a lost, frozen sort of way before asking, "Whoever could _that _be?"

"I'm not telling," retorted Serra, folding her arms and sticking her nose into the air.

"Ah, but my sweet Serra," cried Sain forlornly, "How could you rebuke me so and not tell me _why_? Who could have possibly stolen your heart from my so-loving grasp?"

"I'm…not…_telling!_" Serra repeated firmly.

"Tough luck, Sir Sain," chuckled Matthew. "She never says anything that she doesn't want to. However…if _I _wanted to say it…" The thief leaned against the wall and grinned charmingly at them both.

"Who is it?" Sain eagerly asked, hazel eyes alight, as Serra lunged for Matthew and screamed,

"Don't!"

"Some might call him a _jerk_…" Matthew sang, nimbly dodging the cleric…

"Matthew!"

"In the bookstore he does _lurk…"_

"_Matthew!_ No!" Serra dove for him again. Matthew stepped aside again.

"With his sagely, magely _smirk_…"

"DON'T SAY IT!"

"You drive him— and me—_berserk_…" Matthew told the cleric as she tried to all-out tackle him. He twisted just out of reach with a swirl of his crimson cape, and Serra had to stop herself from running headlong into the stone wall of the corridor.

"Elimine!" Sain gasped. "Serra…I can't believe I never saw this coming…"

Serra whirled to face Sain, face pink, hands balled into fists. "It's not what it sounds like!"

The green knight continued: "You like _Jaffar?"_

Serra's mouth fell open. She stared a minute at Sain before regaining her bearings and shouting, "Absolutely not!"

Matthew's eye twitched. "What would Jaffar be doing in a _bookstore_? Besides murdering innocents?"

"Serra, my dear, I never realized you were the type to fall for a homicidal maniac—"

"I FELL FOR _ERK, _YOU BIG IDIOT!" Serra bellowed into Sain's face as Matthew slapped his forehead. When she was done trying to turn Sain into a pile of ashes with her gaze, Serra switched it to Matthew. "You really didn't have to make such a spectacle it," she added disdainfully. "It wasn't a big deal at all."

Matthew and Sain watched, completely dumbstruck, as the unfazed healer walked away without a backward glance.

"…So…" Sain hesitantly began, "The letter was from Erk…"

"Who is staying with Priscilla…" Matthew cut in.

"And he is writing to Serra…"

"To get advice on how to _court _Priscilla…"

"Which she is willingly _giving _him?"

Matthew sighed, causing his shoulders to go up and down. "I don't pretend to know what women are thinking."

"Then today is your lucky day, my friend!" Sain proclaimed, clapping Matthew on the back. "I, Sain, happen to be an expert when it comes to women! I believe that we should work on this conundrum of Erk and Serra, and thus—"

"STOP THROWING THE BLOODY TOAST AT ME, FARINA!" a voice suddenly roared, echoing down the hallway.

Sain looked back towards the dining hall and grinned. "Actually, my good thief, perhaps we should deal with this problem first."

"I suppose now would be a good time to see if _Farina _keeps a diary," Matthew said innocently, and Sain could only chuckle wickedly in agreement.

* * *

"This is getting a bit ridiculous," Eliwood sighed as Della slid into bed beside him.

She peeked up at him meekly, the covers drawn up to her delicate nose. "I'm sorry…I know it's late again…but I had fifty billion terms to define for history and we wouldn't just shut up and coexist with flippin' Gorbachev already and then Coca Cola got involved except it was _wrong _and they spelled it with a 'K' and--!"

"Della, Della," Eliwood whispered urgently, "not so loud! What if somebody heard you?"

"What if your _mom _heard me?" the tactician shot back saucily, looking quite pleased with herself.

"She might have," Eliwood replied worriedly. "Her room is just down the hall…"

Della hunched her shoulders in a pained wince. "Oh, snap, that joke didn't work at _all._"

Eliwood rolled his eyes. "We can still talk, but we need to keep it down."

"Ah?" Della lowered the blankets down to her chin, and Eliwood was able to see her impertinent smile. "So you're ready to keep talking?"

"Is that the first question?" Eliwood asked with a grin, thus causing the two of them to start another round of Della's strange Question Game. These sessions truly were amazing, if they could think of hard enough questions…why, in just a couple of nights, he had already learned so much about her: like why she wore a tunic instead of a skirt (because skirts are impractical and tunics are "vicious"), who she disliked in the army (Raven, because "he's an emo, and even Harry Potter couldn't pull that one off"), and why she spent so much time with Canas ("He has a _monocle! _Hel_lo_!"). However, Eliwood soon came to realize that the best part of this game was how much he learned about _himself. _Some of the questions his tactician asked had required him to look very closely at himself, to draw forth memories he had forgotten—and some he had even _tried _to forget, to realize how he felt about certain things and how that defined his character.

Many times he was tempted to ask her about her past—especially concerning that mysterious swordsman from her homeland, the man that she had loved. A strangely angry curiosity about the boy had been growing in Eliwood's gut recently…he wanted to know. Yet he knew that if he asked Della about him, the question she would shoot back would have to do with Ninian. Eliwood wasn't sure if he could answer any questions about Ninian…his lingering feelings for her _still _sent burning pangs through his heart, making him want to curl up into a ball and cease to breathe. There was no use dwelling on her…now that he could never have her.

So he left the matter of Della's swordsman alone, even though he caught her staring at him once or twice as if she knew exactly what was on his mind.

"So…" the tactician asked after a while, "Do you remember the first time we met?"

Eliwood chuckled. "Oh, I remember very well." He turned on his side and propped his head up with his hand, facing her. "I first met you on the day that I met Ninian, didn't I?"

He tried to keep his voice casual, tried to keep himself from imagining how the dancer's lithe body had felt in his arms as he had carried her to Lyn—whom he had also met for the first time that day. If Della noticed this mental struggle, she did not comment upon it.

In fact, she was looking up at the canopy of his spacious bed, deep in thought. "Really? Wow…I guess that's right!"

"I remember, the first time I saw you…" Eliwood took a breath to buy himself more time to phrase his words correctly. "I was struck by how young you were. Except for Nils, you seemed to be the smallest…and I wondered what you were doing with a group of warriors_._"

"Ordering them around, of course," Della retorted playfully. She paused a moment, thinking, then knit her brows in thought. "But I'm not talking about that day…we didn't technically _meet_, we didn't even talk to each other. You dumped Ninian with Lyn, quit playing hero, and ran for it."

"Playing hero?" Eliwood echoed, a tad bitterly. "Well, if _that's _how you feel—"

"Felt," Della corrected. "Now come on, man. What were you going to say about that day?"

Eliwood shot her a half-smile. "I know we did not even speak a word to each other, but…to me, it seems like that day _was _when we met. The first time I saw you, I…felt something, Della."

"What do you mean?" she asked skeptically.

Eliwood refused to feel foolish. "I mean that…I almost had this sense as if I knew you—or, at least, would come to know you someday. Your face stayed within my mind."

"Whereas I completely forgot you," Della told him with a yawn.

"_Forgot _me?" Eliwood gave a start.

"Yeah," she continued nonchalantly. "I was already PO'd, you understand, because I had just found this totally amazing game with a girl protagonist and it was like 'all _right!_' and we were running around pwning everything and then we found a flute player and were all 'zomg, gotta help the awesome kid!' so we went off to find Ninian…and all of a sudden, right before things were about to get action-y, _you _show up with the enemy already defeated and the chick in your arms! I mean, come on! Way to spoil the fun! I started to totally dislike you, for stealing Lyn's glory and whatnot."

Eliwood was nearly struck dumb. "You thought I was trying to _steal glory?"_

"Well, you just came in with your swishy cape and pointy rapier—"

"You _disliked _me?!"

"It was only for a little bit!" Della hastily assured him. "The first time we actually _met…_well, that was a bit different."

"Would you care to elaborate?" Pherae's marquess asked suspiciously.

Della chuckled. "Well…first, I had the same misgivings about you. I knew I had to help save Rebecca's village…but to work for _you _to do it? Mr. Fancy-Pants from several levels earlier? I was like 'oh NO, not The Protagonist!'."

Eliwood felt blood rush to his face, instantly uncomfortable with being so disliked…until Della continued, her voice softening.

"But then…you spoke to me, Eliwood. You weren't stuck-up or arrogant at all, which I thought you might be. In the battle, you asked me for help and used my ideas. And when you fought…you were very brave."

Eliwood made a noise of disbelief. "Ha! Truth be told…I was quite nervous. I had never been in a real battle before…I thought _you _were the brave one, keeping such a cool head." He tapped the tip of her nose with a finger before wryly adding, "Although it was a tad disconcerting to see such a young girl completely unfazed by blood and death."

Della shrugged. "Ho hum. Imaginary blood and pixilated death."

"And then…" Eliwood continued, "I began talking to you outside of battle. At first it was quite…intimidating. You speak very quickly, you know, and you were always saying such strange things…"

"I freaked you out?" Della seemed to think the idea quite comical. "How ridiculous! So I hated you at first…but grew to respect you…and you respected me at first…but grew to fear me!"

"I became accustomed to you _eventually_," Eliwood protested with a laugh of his own. "In fact, it took very little time for you to become quite dear to me."

"Oh?" Della suddenly sounded quite flustered; she squirmed a little bit beside him. "Umm…seriously?"

"Quite dear," the lord repeated in a whisper, closing his eyes and resting his head on the pillow beneath him.

"It…was the same for you," he heard Della whisper back. "It wasn't long at all before I began to like you. A lot. You were my bff. And I was yours, right?"

"Whatever that means," Eliwood mumbled sleepily.

"…When _did _I start to feel that way?" Della wondered aloud in a murmur. "To find your horrendous cliché-ness endearing? It happened so gradually…I mean, with Sain and Kent, I knew immediately that I loved them the moment I heard them speak…Sain's words were so flowery, and Kent's were so proper and chivalrous…"

"Oh!" Eliwood's eyes snapped open as a thought struck him. "Speaking of Kent…did I tell you that I got a letter from Lyndis today?"

Della raised her head from the pillow in shock. "No you did not, jerk-face!"

"She wrote to me from Ostia." Eliwood could feel his lips stretch into a warm smile. "She said that she was having fun. I'm very glad she's there, actually…Hector is the perfect man to keep her company while Kent is away. The two get along quite well."

Della snorted.

"In their own way, I mean," Eliwood hastily amended. "For them, arguing _is _getting along."

Della chuckled. "I suppose so. So, is she going to stay in Ostia until Kent comes back?"

Eliwood's smile only widened with excitement. "Actually, she wants to come visit us in Pherae sometime soon!"

"Most excellent!" Della enthused.

Eliwood laughed in response. "Yes, I'm very excited."

"We'll easily keep her mind off of Kent," declared Della. She rested her head on his shoulder and Eliwood snaked an arm around her. The two stared up at the canopy together like a pair of stargazers. "Still…I wish I knew what my dear Kent was up to."

"Yes…" Eliwood agreed, absentmindedly pulling her closer. "I wonder how he's faring…"

* * *

_Time to get up already? But I'm still so tired…_

A hand was shaking his shoulder. Kent's head was throbbing. His eyes reluctantly fluttered open to meet a darker pair—only a few inches away from his face. Kent furrowed his brow and strained to see who the strange eyes belonged to.

…_Rath? _

The Sacaean's gaze was fierce and searching. When Kent focused on his face, comprehending the situation yet quite confused, Rath released his shoulder and moved away. Kent took that as an invitation to go back to sleep. His dreams were of Lyn, her long emerald hair blowing in the wind…

Hardly no time at all later, he was awakened once more.

_My head…it hurts…_

Rath again, peering into his eyes. Kent screwed them up in irritation. The nomad seemed satisfied and left him alone again.

Yet, just as Kent had drifted off into slumber—or so it felt—Rath shook his shoulder _again. _The red knight let out an incoherent mumble and tried to shrug away from the grip dragging him into consciousness, but Rath kept shaking him until Kent was forced to open his eyes a third time. Then Rath left him alone.

Kent wasn't sure how long it went on—a muddled, never-ending state of the rapid changes between sleeping and waking, realizing and forgetting, sometimes darkness and sometimes Lyn's face and sometimes Rath's face and sometimes a stranger's face, pain and the absence of it.

At one point he was awakened not by a hand on his shoulder, but by someone lifting his head into their lap. His hair felt wet—_Is it raining?—_and the water smelled strange and stung his scalp…something was winding tightly around his head, and that hurt, too…

Kent struggled to go back to sleep, to fall into that soft abyss of blackness, to keep on—however feverishly—dreaming of Lyndis.

xOx

The next time Kent awoke, it was to the sound of the wind. He was only dimly aware of it, at first, just a soothing sound within his subconscious…yet as time went on, it gradually pulled him out of his slumber. For a moment, still groggy, he feared that he had reached the afterlife…until he became aware of an exceedingly fierce headache and began to remember the haze of the past few—hours? Days?—and realized that he could not possibly be dead. He opened his eyes to find that his headache had abated slightly.

Once his vision stopped swimming, he discovered that he was lying on his back on a hard woven mat in a nomad's tent. A small hole at the top was letting out puffs of dark smoke and letting in the bright white rays of the day's sunlight. _Is this a ger? _he wondered vaguely, struggling to remember the word that Lyndis had spoken what seemed like an eternity ago.

Kent lifted himself to his elbows with an effort and blinked as he looked around. Across from him, on the other side of a small cooking fire, sat Rath. The plainsman's attention was focused on a rabbit in his lap, which he was skinning, but he looked up sharply when he heard Kent stir. Though he locked his eyes on Kent's and was obviously aware of the fact that the red knight had awakened, he said nothing and made no move to acknowledge him.

"Rath?" Kent croaked, an attempt at reaching past the steely glint in the nomad's eyes.

The Sacaean seemed not to notice this plea. His dark gaze was impassive as he answered, "…Yes?"

"What…what time is it?" Kent asked hoarsely—realizing that not only would he be hard-pressed to get answers, but also that his throat was burning. How long had it been since he had last had water?

"Morning," Rath replied shortly, "of the second day."

"I've been out for two days?!" Kent exclaimed, before clutching his throat as pain ripped through it. Rath merely raised an eyebrow at him.

"Do you have water?" the red knight asked in a slightly sheepish whisper.

Rath appraised him coldly as he handed over a small canteen. Kent received it with soft but fervent thanks and tried to force himself to drink it slowly—although all he really wanted to do was guzzle it down, even if it meant spilling it all over the front of himself.

"You would have arisen long before this," Rath informed him quietly, "had we not had to keep waking you."

_Ah. _Kent wiped a hand across his mouth before resting the palm against the back of his head. His skull felt extremely tender, no matter how gently he probed it. _A head wound. It would have been dangerous to let me keep sleeping after I had obtained this...but…wait, how _did _I obtain this?_

"Do you know…what happened to me?" Kent asked Rath.

"They knocked you out."

"I have figured out that much." Kent shifted painfully to a sitting position and rubbed the back of his aching head. "But…why?"

"We needed to decide what to do with you." Rath returned his interest to the rabbit in his lap.

Kent managed a nervous, hollow smile. "What to _do _with me? Why…what do you mean?"

Once more, Rath waited a long while before speaking. "…Why are you here, Kent?"

"I thought I had already told you," Kent replied, slightly confused. "I have come to Sacae to learn how to weave a marriage bracelet. I had tried to find you, since you are my only contact in Sacae, in the hopes that you would teach me…and if you were not willing, I would find somebody else. But instead…" Kent looked up and gestured around the ger with a tinge of incredulity. "I find myself unconscious."

"Strangers are not welcome here," Rath murmured.

"Forgive me if you feel otherwise, but…I am no stranger," Kent insisted. "We have fought together, Rath. We were comrades under the Lady Lyndis. Do you forget so easily?"

A sour scowl darkened the nomad's face. "Perhaps I would have liked to," he murmured, almost inaudibly.

Kent gave a start. _He wants to _forget _Lyndis? How could that possibly be? And besides all that…why would he detain me here? If he had wanted to kill me for trespassing, he would have done so already… _

"I…don't understand," whispered Kent.

Rath did not look up at him. "Don't understand what," he said, hardly even a question.

"I understand that you would be angry that I trespassed on your land," Kent replied, "but…now I am just confused. I was struck, which obviously meant that you wanted to harm me…and yet, instead of leaving me to die or harming me further, which you could easily have done these past two days…you've helped me recover. Why did you help me after I was hurt?" The red knight paused a moment, then added, "Why did you even order them to hurt me in the first place?"

"…You arrived on a festival day," Rath explained softly, laying the skinned rabbit on a mat by his side.

Kent watched the nomad from where he sat on the other side of the tent—knees drawn up, brown arms draped across them, chin held high. He was reminded quite suddenly of Lyn. "That's odd. I didn't hear any celebration going on when I rode up…"

"It was a day of prayer," Rath snapped back. "Silent. Sacred. And you intruded."

"I-I'm terribly sorry." Kent gripped the woven blanket draped across his lap. "I certainly didn't mean--"

"My father wanted you killed," Rath interrupted. "He thought you were a bad omen. He…believes those sorts of things." His usual scowl intensified tenfold, and he glared bitterly into the fire. Kent wondered what troubles raged behind the nomad's usual mask of perfect calm.

"So…" the knight asked tentatively, "Why am I still alive?"

"…You mentioned Lyn," Rath whispered back. "I could not let Dayan kill you, could not let my feelings rule me, not when you were seeking something for…" He trailed off, and looked piercingly at Kent. The knight was startled to see a glimmer of emotion—_desperation?_—in the nomad's stoic eyes. "Tell me. Is she marrying you because she must? Because you are the highest-ranking man, beneath her grandfather?"

"N-no!" Kent answered, startled. "Not at all!"

"Then why?" Rath hissed, demanding.

Kent was baffled by this interrogation. "Because…because she and I are in love. We--"

"Enough." Rath clenched one fist and screwed his eyes shut. Kent fell silent, wondering what he had said wrong.

"…Look," he ventured after a moment, "Are you angry because…I am a Lycian? Do you think that Lyndis was somehow forced into marrying me? Because I can assure you, that is not the case." He laughed a little bit, and softly added, "No one can force her to do _anything_."

"So…this was of her own free will," Rath concluded softly. Kent nodded—though the action made his head pound worse than before—and the nomad retreated into himself again. Though his dark eyes were blank and passive, his fist was still clenched so tightly that the knuckles had turned white.

Kent bit his lip, thinking. He knew that Lyn and Rath had been somewhat close…he had saved her from an assassin's blow, after all, and the two were practically united by blood as children of Sacae. They had a loyalty to each other—they protected each other. They even had an uncanny way of communicating…just listening and watching, not using words, and somehow managing to learn. Kent could vaguely remember trying to squash down something resembling jealousy every time the two looked into each other's eyes…not that he would have admitted feeling such a thing, not even to himself, for it was _most _unbecoming of a knight to become involved with his lady's affairs.

"…I will take good care of her," Kent promised quietly, as if trying to convince a father to pass on his daughter. "In fact…she wants to return to Sacae, after we are wed. She will not be kept locked in a castle, if that is what you fear."

Rath did not speak. He did not even look at Kent.

"Unless…" the knight softly ventured, "You fear something different."

The nomad's eyes hardened, but he still did not answer. Kent gave a slight sigh and tried to smile as he changed the subject:

"Er…so…where is my horse?"

"Outside with the others," Rath replied indifferently. He shifted to a kneeling position and put the skinned rabbit by his side onto the spit hanging over the fire. "Do not worry—he was cared for while we held you here."

_Like a prisoner. _The words burned in Kent's mind, but he dared not say them. He asked another question, instead.

"Is there any chance that I shall be freed?"

"You may go as soon as your wound heals," Rath replied, still not so much as glancing towards his captive. "Perhaps even as early as later today."

Kent fell silent with relief. Knowing that he and Gareth were alright…he could think of nothing else to inquire about. Silence filled the ger, broken only by the soft crackle of the flames.

_Although there _is_ the matter of my wound..._Kent winced slightly and put a hand to his hair…to find bandages there. While he had been asleep, someone had dressed his head—and had done quite a good job of it, too.

"Did you do this for me?" he asked Rath, probing his sore scalp gently. The other man still would not meet his eyes, but nodded once. Kent was both confused and touched by this gesture. "Really? Well…thank you."

Rath just grunted once in acknowledgement, and for a long while afterwards the two sat in silence and watched the fire separating them dance and snap. Every once in a while, Rath would reach to a spit—on which the rabbit he was skinning before was cooking—and give it a half-turn. The ger began to fill with the smell of roasted meat, and Kent's stomach folded in on itself. For the first time, the red knight realized that he was hungry.

"Rath…" he began haltingly, trying to say something—anything!—to keep his mind off of food, "I…do have one more question."

"Mm?" The nomad made an almost halfway curious noise in response.

"Why…?" Kent found it hard to phrase what he wanted to say. He looked down at his lap and clutched the edge of his blanket more tightly. "Why do you look at me as if I am an enemy?"

Rath was very still for a long moment. Finally, he whispered, "Perhaps it is because you feel like one."

"But…why? Have I done something wrong?"

Rath shook his head and was quiet for another long stretch of time. Slowly, carefully, he rose to his feet and looked sharply down at Kent.

"I cannot help but to look this way," he murmured. Kent just gazed back up, quite confused, until Rath finally uttered a few soft words that made everything painfully clear:

"I loved Lyn, too."

And with that, the nomad slipped out of the tent, leaving Kent alone with a rabbit and a headache and a surge of horror.

* * *

"My turn," said Eliwood.

He was lying on his side in bed, propped up on one elbow, watching Della hold the same pose and look back at him_. _For once, she had come to bed at a reasonable hour…but the both of them, by now so used to staying up late, had been talking for quite some time. It was that game again, an absolutely riveting thing, beautiful in its simplicity. To merely ask questions, to trust in the honest truth…it was so different from the politics filling his days, so different from dancing around with words and twisting meanings to suit the tastes of the people around him.

"If you were not a tactician...which profession would you pursue, instead?"

"Oh, I'd definitely be an artisan," Della replied without hesitation. "A storyteller...a painter, perhaps...a musician."

"I can certainly see you being a musician," Eliwood murmured, instantly recalling her close bond with Nils. The young bard had trusted Della so much that he had even let her play upon his flute, when the army had settled down for the night…which she did with a lot more skill than Eliwood had expected. He hadn't known that the enigma of a girl possessed a love of music.

He found her hand in the darkness and laced his fingers through it. "You even have an artist's hand," he mused. "Long-fingered and whatnot."

"Oh! Which reminds me! There's a question I've always wanted to ask you…" Della trailed off, sounding slightly amused. She giggled a bit before she spoke next. "Eliwood, what I really want to know is...why the heck are _your_ hands so big?"

Eliwood lifted his head from the fist propping it up and stared at her, instantly confused. "...What?"

"They are!" she insisted, raising their intertwined hands to study his. "They're ridiculously _not_ proportional to the rest of you. Your facial features are aristocratic, and your body is of slender build...by all rationale, your hands should be slim and delicate."

"That sounds so womanly!" Eliwood complained.

Della chuckled and gave his hand a slight squeeze. "Actually, that just might be it. I personally believe that you were given such obnoxiously large and strong hands because it was some designer's last, desperate attempt to make you appear somewhat masculine."

"Not masculine?" Eliwood demanded indignantly. "I'm plenty masculine!"

Della's grin, even through the darkness, was unmistakably puckish. "If you say so."

"I do." Eliwood withdrew his hand from hers and rolled over on his back, crossing his arms over his chest. "Besides," he countered after a moment, "I also say that you aren't the most feminine woman I've ever met."

"Ha!" Della seemed largely unimpressed. "That's hardly a feat. Why, with so many girly-girls running around...Florina, Priscilla, Ninia--oh...I...I'm sorry."

The tactician trailed off, realizing her mistake. Eliwood had stiffened in spite of himself, but he tried to keep his voice neutral. "Don't...don't be. She _was_...er, quite feminine."

_Elimine…the amount of control it took me to keep my hands to myself around her…how I had to remind myself not to touch her hair, her face, her hips…_

"Yeah." Della laughed softly, but quickly fell silent. Eliwood bit his lip as he felt the space between them stretch and become steadily more awkward. _Have I…said something wrong? Ninian was…but Della is…I-I've hurt her feelings, haven't I!_

"Not that there's anything wrong with _not_ being overly-feminine," Eliwood finally burst out with a rush of emotion.

"Or that there's anything wrong with not being overly-masculine," Della responded quickly.

"Because I like you just the way you are!"

"You too!"

"Right, then!"

Eliwood was breathing normally, yet he still felt as if he had to catch his breath. He inhaled slowly and fought to calm himself--although he had no idea as to what had worked him up so in the first place.

"Maybe we should go to sleep now," Della whispered. "Someone might have heard us."

Eliwood raised himself up slightly, straining to hear if anyone else was moving about...but the darkness, if it had such a secret, kept it well hidden. "No...I think we're alright."

"Okay then. Well...goodnight, Eliwood." The tactician rolled over so that her back was to him—the way she slept every night—and despite the strange moment that had just occurred, he slipped his arm around her.

"Goodnight, Della."

Eliwood shut his eyes and tried to drift off...but he found himself unable to. That awkwardness was still there, ringing in the air, harsh and oppressive. There were things left unsaid, he could hear them in Della's mind and taste them upon the tip of his tongue. Finally, just as he had opened his mouth to try and break the unnatural silence, his tactician whispered,

"…I think you need to talk about her."

Eliwood felt his throat tighten. _Ninian. That's who she means. _"Della, I…"

"Come on. You've kept it all inside." Della turned to face him and gave him a smile both mournful and cynical. "Do you think I've stayed up so late playing The Question Game with you just for fun? Each night I've been trying to get you to open up, Eliwood. To…discuss this."

The lord's jaw dropped. "You've been _planning _this conversation all along?"

"I might've taken too long to catch on about how support conversations work, but I'm not a social imbecile!" Della retorted, offended.

"This was another of your _schemes_?"

"This was for _you_, Eliwood! You need to talk about this!"

"How do you even _do _that?" he asked her incredulously.

"Please," she said softly, ignoring his question. She placed a gentle hand against his chest, over where his heart should be. "Eliwood, this will tear you apart."

"It already is," he forced out, feeling unbidden tears sting his eyes. "But what am I to do about it? Complaining will not change things. It will not bring her back."

"But it'll get your heart out of the past," Della told him. She tried to hold his gaze, but Eliwood quickly dropped it to the sheets and began blinking rapidly.

"No…no, Della, it _won't._"

"Why not?" she whispered.

"There's…too much to say," he answered in a murmur. "I don't know if I could possibly tell it all to you. There are some things that I would just say over and over again. And in the end, all that talking about her does is make me feel…hollow." His fingers toyed with the silky edge of his coverlet as he admitted, "I…I'm not ready to talk about her."

"…Then I won't push you," Della told him softly. She sighed once before tilting her head up, allowing Eliwood to try and meet her eyes through the darkness. "The pain fades over time, you know. So…it'll be okay. Trust me."

_I should take comfort in the fact that such a dear friend has felt such a similar agony? _Eliwood closed his eyes in sorrow and pressed his brow to hers. "I wish I did not have to trust _you _on such a matter. I wish you did not know this pain at all."

"It's not pain anymore," Della responded quietly, though her fingers fisted in the front of her nightgown, above where her heart should be. Eliwood was all too familiar with that feeling—the want to squeeze his heart and make it stop aching, to cease its painful, throbbing cadence.

"How does your heart?" he asked in a whisper.

"Oh…" Della smiled—suddenly and uncannily cheery. Eliwood found this _quite _unnerving. "It's gone."

"_Gone_?"

"Yeah. I'm empty. Except for a lot of debris and stuff at the bottom of me."

His unsettled glance was probably what forced her to explain herself. "You know about my track—er, _swordsman_. You know that he's fallen for another girl."

"But are you positive?" Eliwood asked, trying to keep some optimism in his voice. "You haven't been home in quite a while…I mean, surely he wouldn't…have…"

Della's grin was too broad. "Eliwood, you imbecile, you don't know anything. I've definitely been home long enough to know exactly what's going on."

She stopped then and shifted so she was lying on her back, hands folded across her stomach, staring unseeingly at the canopy of the bed. Eliwood wasn't sure what to do, what to say…though he wished for the power to lie to her, to tell her that she was mistaken and that her deep, steadfast love would someday be requited. After a moment of that hesitant silence, Della kept talking.

"You know…at first...the thought of them together? It _destroyed _me. There were little demons in my heart, clawing it to shreds…and it hurt so unbearably. I couldn't take it. I thought I would die. And so…the only thing I could think of to do, to stop the pain, was to just pull my heart away from him entirely. It would have been easy, right?"

Eliwood chuckled grimly. "Wrong."

"Exactly." Della sighed, still staring upwards as if she could see past the canopy to the ceiling, and past that to the starry autumn sky. "It was impossible for me to just wrench my heart away…it kept gravitating back towards him. So…I had to break it. Bit by bit…piece by piece…I let it break so it would rid me of him. And now…it has crumbled entirely. There's just the glass dust of what it once was, deep in the bottom of me. That's okay, though, because it doesn't hurt anymore…except for when I move around, but I can usually avoid that…"

"You just let all your love fade away?" Eliwood asked, his voice soft with pity.

Della shook her head. "No. Don't you get it? It wouldn't fade…so I had to _destroy_ it, before it destroyed me." She glanced towards him and smiled, once more in that eerily calm way. "Falling _out _of love, eh?"

"So now…you have nothing left?"

"That's right." Della's smile stretched wider. Eliwood felt horror twist in his gut. "Oh come on, don't look at me like that, Eliwood…its better this way. It hurt far more to have a heart than to not have one at all."

Of all the words she had ever spoken—teasing, sharp, or completely incomprehensible--, none had ever forced Eliwood closer to tears than these. He turned his face away and shut his eyes tightly, willing sleep to overtake him before he had a chance to weep for her…and for himself.

* * *

A knock on her door, late at night. Priscilla had been reading, still not changed into her nightgown, not tired in the least, but unable to make sense of her book because the words kept blurring and swimming across the page, although Heath--who had been behind the door when she opened it--looked very clear.

He did not say a word, just smiled his roguish smile and took her hand in his bigger, stronger one and led her down the hallway. She didn't speak. She didn't question. She loved the way he hurried her along, sensing the same urgency deep inside her soul, desperate to get outside and feel the cool night air and see the sky and—

Moonlight. Now he was leading her along the battlements, and the wind was sharp on her face and her mind still felt hazy and she wondered if it was possible to be drunk on moonlight. The light of the moon strained into a drink of intangible whiteness, poured upon the world, and she was swimming in it…

Now she was hurrying down the stairs, though Heath was making sure not to run too fast, lest he pulled her too quickly and she tripped. They were in grass, her knees were buckling as the firm stone of the stairs gave way to soft earth, and Heath swept her up in his arms and twirled her around and then she was running again, giddy, hardly touching the ground because her hand was still touching _him_ and that was all that really mattered or was substantial and material, anyway.

Suddenly her back was pressed against the wall of her manor, and Heath's body was pressed against her front, and his arms were around her and he blocked the moonlight from her vision but she was drowning all the same as his lips found hers in a kiss that was hard and deep and very, very long, as if they had all the time in the world. And somehow, deep down, Priscilla felt that they had very _little _time, but she pushed the thought away because it didn't matter because his lips were moving along her jaw and she couldn't really think very well and then the weight of him was gone and he had her hand again and he was smiling—_really _smiling, in such a carefree and lighthearted way! Priscilla's heart soared--she had never seen him like this before, and they were running again to nowhere in particular but never got very far because every few seconds he would stop and kiss her again and their tongues would meet and she would get unspeakably dizzy and fall against him and he would have to stop laughing before they could move again—

"I love you."

That was all he said, just whispering it over and over, in between the times he was whispering her name into her ear, into her mouth, into the pulse at her neck, until Priscilla's whole body thrummed with his words. He was so open this night, had been open ever since he returned from his day on his wyvern, and the way he held her so tightly completely banished Priscilla's misgivings, as if she had nothing to worry about at all…

She couldn't even worry about what her step-parents would think, at this point, to find them stealing kisses out in the gardens, because that was kind of the point. They were stealing. It was risky. Priscilla knew that Heath was sick of trying to be proper, sick of holding back, and she was coming to feel much the same. She would have risked anything for him. To have him. There. With her.

"I love you, Priscilla. I'm sorry I was so distant."

"Never leave me," she pleaded, winding her arms about his neck, up on her tiptoes, lost in his eyes—

"Never," he whispered back, sure and fervent, and he said he loved her again, and now he was leading her back up to her room before someone actually _did _notice her missing because Heath was actually very concerned about that sort of thing and wanted to make sure he didn't get her into any trouble.

"I love you too, Heath."

Which was the truth, because she loved the way he'd sneak her out at night just to reassure her before she slept that he was still there, and happy at her side; and because all he did was kiss and she never had to worry about him being forward, which she—as a priestess of St. Elimine—would certainly not have known how to handle, if he had been; and because even when she was completely and utterly delirious she could still feel his presence, guiding and protecting and caring for her at all times.

_Maybe I should let him go out flying more often, _she decided hazily.

The best part of it all was that even without thinking clearly, she could realize that she was not alone.

* * *

"Alright, so then I…"

"Yes, but…but dear Elimine, she's so radiantly exquisite--!"

"Will you cut that out?!"

Matthew glared fiercely at Sain, who gave a theatrical sigh and made a silent show of being offended. The thief rolled his eyes.

"Alright, so if this doesn't work—"

"You told me it was foolproof!"

"Right, well, that means that no fools are allowed, you see, and my young master is rather—"

"This _must _work! Why, if true love cannot use such a masterful ruse to shine its bounteous brilliance into the hearts of—"

"I said _cut it out!"_

Sain swallowed the rest of his sentence and nodded once. He and Matthew exchanged a sly look and then peered around the corner, up to something quite definitely mischievous.

As he glanced into the corridor around the wall he was currently hiding behind, Sain tried to run the plan through once more in his head. Matthew should already have lured Lord Hector into the hallway with a note about one of the Khathelet ambassadors returning, and Serra had been dispatched to get Farina into said hallway before Hector arrived. Of course…the timing of everything was _crucial…_

"I sure hope this helps," Matthew muttered, "Or I am in a _lot _of trouble…"

"I shall be too, if Lady Lyndis finds out about this," Sain agreed. "I'm sure she'd condone our intentions, but not our _actions…_and why, exactly, do _I _have to be the bait?"

"Because you're the only one who acts like that normally," Matthew replied simply.

Sain gasped. "I most certainly do not! I, sir, always show the utmost respect—"

"It's a pretty good plan, though," interrupted the thief, craning his neck to get a better look into the corridor.

Sain had to agree, even if it was with reluctance. _I wonder if this would have pleased Della? It's exactly the sort of ridiculous plot that she would have come up with…what's that word again? Messionage? Testionage? Esp…espi…_

"I never thought I'd be willing to do espionage in my _free_ time," Matthew said suddenly, and rather fondly.

"AHA!" exclaimed Sain jubilantly…just as another voice screamed,

"GOODY!"

Matthew quickly shushed the green knight and ducked back behind the wall, out of view. The two men could hear footsteps echoing down the hallway…along with a high, familiar voice:

"I'm _so _glad that I found you, Farina! I've been looking all over for you! I have a letter for Erk, you see, which must be delivered right away…come on, down to my room, it's this way!"

Matthew was counting seconds on his fingers, and when he reached the appropriate number he shoved Sain out into the corridor and hissed, "Your cue!"

"Beauteous Farina!" the knight bellowed, throwing out his arms. "Just the woman I was looking for!"

Surprise registered on the Pegasus rider's face—the normal reaction to Sain's antics—and while she was thus occupied, Matthew snatched up Serra and ducked behind the long, deep blue curtains framing one of the corridor's windows.

"Conveniently placed," Serra muttered in regards to their hiding place. Matthew silenced her by covering her mouth with his hand—though he doubted that would be enough to stop her if she was really that bent on talking—and resisted the urge to poke his head out and see what Sain was doing. It was _so _frustrating to be able to see only a velvety mess of blue, to only be able to hear what was happening…!

"My darling, you can't imagine how much it pains this loyal knight's heart to have it separated from you for even a moment—not while we're here, together again!"

"Uhg, cut it out, Sain, I have work to do!"

"Dearest One, you look so stressed! That porcelain brow, furrowed in worry…let my lips smooth it out!"

"Hey--where did Serra go?!"

"Er…absolutely nowhere! Oh, precious flower, song of my heart, surely there is no one else in the world besides you and I! Just us…here…alone…"

"Sain of Caelin, if you don't back up _this instant_, I'm gonna—hey!"

Farina's voice sounded so very startled that Matthew couldn't resist chancing a peek. He felt his eyes widen at the sight that greeted him—which was Sain caging Farina against the wall of the corridor with his arms, his body drawing close to hers.

"My love," the knight murmured, "You set my very soul on fire…"

Farina raised a fist to pummel an idea of personal space into Sain's thick skull. Sain grabbed her wrist to stop her. Footsteps were heard, coming down the hallway towards them. Matthew fought to quell his nervous anticipation. Sain realized that the time had come, thanked Elimine that Lyn wasn't there to see…

And plunged his mouth down against Farina's in a bold kiss.

That was exactly the moment that Lord Hector entered the hallway, froze, and suddenly bellowed, "That is _not _an ambassador from Khathelet!"

The next thing Sain knew, he had been slammed with an _extremely _well-executed right hook. The force of the blow sent him flying away from Farina and sprawling on the floor. The green knight cringed as Hector stood above him, eyes flaming with rage, rather absentmindedly wringing the hand he had used to punch Sain.

_Oh, the things I do for love! _"L-lord Hector, I—"

"What in Elimine's name were you doing?!" the marquess bellowed.

"I was…giving her a kiss, my lord!" Sain found it hard to talk…his jaw was aching _terribly. _

"Why would you do a thing like that?" Hector demanded, his face flushed and furious. There was panic in his eyes, something wild and uncertain and jealous. Farina remained frozen against the wall, staring at the Lord with a gaze that was hard to decipher.

"I wanted…I thought…" Sain struggled to a sitting position and put a hand to his face—which was already starting to swell. He looked up at Hector and softly asked, "…Why do you care so much, my lord?"

It was an impertinent question, but the plan called for Sain to ask it…and he noted with barely contained amusement how Hector lost his composure as he answered it.

"I…I just…I don't! But you were…s-she didn't…!" The lord clenched his eyes shut, obviously fighting for self-control.

_That's right, Lord Hector…remember your manners! Don't completely destroy this humble knight and get blood all over your nice castle floor! I'm going to get enough of that from Lady Lyn, later! _

Hector's hands were still in tight fists by his sides when he finally opened his eyes, sharply ordering, "Leave my sight. _Now." _

Sain wasted no time in stumbling to his feet and scurrying around the corner and out of view.

"And don't you ever touch her again!" Hector roared to the green knight's retreating form. He was silent a moment, chest heaving as his wrath raged within him. Farina remained very still, but for the trembling fingers she brought up to her lips. Hector gritted his teeth and called,

"_Matthew!_"

The thief cringed behind the curtain and felt Serra's whimper of fear dissolve in a puff of hot breath against his hand.

"Matthew," Hector said again, like a parent summoning their last ounce of patience, "I know you're there. Come out. _Immediately._"

Sheepishly, Matthew released Serra, and the two edged cautiously out from behind the curtains. The thief couldn't repress a shiver—he had seen Hector angry before, seen him rant and stomp and yell until he was blue in the face…but this new angry Hector, this _calm _angry Hector, was far more frightening.

"You were back there…" Hector growled, "the whole time…and didn't help her?"

Matthew shot the lord his most charming smile. "Spies aren't really supposed to get involved, m'lord…I was merely observing…you know, just doing my job…"

"Then continue to do your job and _report to me_!"

Matthew kept smiling—weakly—and tried to defend himself. "It's hard to explain, my lord, it was all...rather like a scheme--"

"No!" screeched Serra, who had up until then been surprisingly quiet, to the thief. "You can't tell him! It'll ruin everything!"

"Tell me _what?_" demanded Hector. "You both had better have a good explanation for this, or I'll—"

"Now, now." Matthew's smile became infuriatingly calm and patronizing, and he rested a hand on Hector's shoulder. The lord's mouth snapped shut. "My not-so-young-anymore master, if you would only give it a little time, everything shall become very clear. You must realize that we do everything for your benefit."

"That has _nothing _to do with any of this!" Hector cried angrily. "You can't sweet-talk your way out of this one, Matthew!"

"Can't I?" asked the spy, one eyebrow raised. He leaned in close and breathed in Hector's ear: "Later."

Then he grabbed Serra's collar, slid behind the corner, and ran for his slippery little life.

"Matthew!" Hector yelled, quickly following, "Come back here, you little--!"

The lord stopped dead to find that Matthew and Serra had completely disappeared from view. He turned back to Farina with a string of colorful curses, but let the foul words fade on his tongue when he saw that she was still against the wall, her fingertips against her lips, her eyes staring at nothing.

"…Are you alright?" Hector asked softly.

Farina's response was only a whisper: "Why…did you do that?"

"Punch Sain? Because…" Hector felt himself redden, but managed to force out, "Because you needed help!"

"I did not!" Farina cried, a sudden and furious outburst, and she turned to Hector with fire in her eyes. "I was perfectly fine!"

"He was _accosting _you!"

"I was about to strike him myself! You didn't have to step in and 'save the damsel'!"

"That's _not _what I was doing! And besides—you sure looked like you were in a difficult situation! I figured I would just give you a hand!"

"I didn't need a hand!" Farina retorted defensively. "You don't have to come to my rescue!"

"Oh, so I should have just let him kiss you like that?" Hector shot back.

"It's none of your business!"

"I'm _making _it my business!"

"Why?!"

Hector froze. The truth was, he wasn't exactly sure why he cared so much, why he was so angry. All he knew was that he had _loathed_ the sight of Sain's hands on Farina. It was just _wrong_—for Sain, or for any other man.

"…I wanted to help you," Hector said finally. "You didn't look like you were enjoying his attentions. And that bloody Matthew sure didn't lift a finger to aid you--!"

"He said something about a scheme," Farina remarked, her eyes narrowed in thought. "I must admit…having Sain actually _touch _me was very surprising. He's quite the flatterer, but I've never known him to lay a hand on a woman. He was…_acting_…trying to distract me, for some purpose…" Her eyes flared open with horrified understanding: "He was keeping me occupied so that Matthew could go into my room and steal my gold! They're after my gold!"

She took a step, ready to launch herself into a sprint down the hallway, but Hector caught her elbow to stop her.

"Farina, that's ridiculous—not only does Matthew have an absurdly high salary, but he's quite capable of stealing gold _without _Sain's help."

"Then what _were _they doing?" Farina snarled, wrenching her arm away.

"_I_ don't know!"

"Do you ever know anything?" the Pegasus rider jeered scathingly.

Hector's eyes hardened, and he grabbed her arm once more. "I know that I don't want you leaving my side from now on."

Farina's lips parted in surprise as she stared up at him. "…What?"

"Yeah! I'm not going to have you walking around and getting yourself into more trouble! Just…stay by me, okay? Because then I'll be there to slug anyone who gets too close."

"I can take care of myself!" Farina screeched, angry and indignant. "I do _not _want you trying to protect me!"

"Well _I _don't want other men touching you like that!"

"So I have to keep to myself," Farina sneered, "But you're free to flirt with Lady Lyndis all the time?"

The name Farina had spat out was like a physical blow, causing Hector to release her and stagger a step backwards. Farina's eyes widened suddenly, filled with horror and shock at the fact that she had let such words slip out…yet behind those emotions was a deep and mysterious hurt. Hector reached out for her, but it was too late—she had whirled around and disappeared around the corner, running far out of sight. Ostia's marquess remained still, standing alone and baffled in the middle of the corridor.

_What was THAT supposed to mean?_

* * *

It may have been because she was finally listening to him about getting enough sleep, it may have been because she had run out of clever questions to ask him, it may have been because her heart was hurting her after their conversation of the previous night…but for whatever the reason, Della did not say a word as she slipped into his bed.

Eliwood slid his arm around her waist, more out of habit than anything else, and fancied that he could see the silence in the air. It was dark and thick, heavy and strangely tangible, brushing against his face and curling its fingers around his neck, ready to choke him—

"I have been thinking," he finally whispered, his voice sounding harsh in the velvety air.

"Impossible," Della mumbled back.

Eliwood ignored that remark—the situation at hand was too important. "Della…this _can't _go on in such a manner."

"Eh?" she asked sleepily.

"Your heart. And mine. They can't endure this kind of pain forever."

Della raised her head from the pillow and looked over her shoulder at him incredulously. "You're _still _thinking about that?"

"It's all I've been able to think about today," Eliwood admitted. "It was very hard to concentrate on anything else."

Della sighed impatiently. "Just get over it, man! The only cure for this is Time, alright? So…we have to be strong until then. Everybody has to be strong until then. There's no room in the world for all these blasted emos."

Eliwood fell silent for a moment as dropped her head back to her pillow, toying with the idea forming in his brain. He wasn't sure if it was a wise course of action to follow it, but…after a day spent being haunted by the prospect of a future alone, with a heart more akin to a corpse than anything else…he figured he should risk it.

"Perhaps…" he ventured slowly, "you were right, earlier. Perhaps it _will _help for us to…talk about this."

"I'm listening," Della said lightly.

Eliwood gave a dark chuckle and tugged on her shoulder, urging her to roll over and face him. "And perhaps _you _should go first."

Even though the darkness, he could see her eyes widen. "No way, Jose!"

"But why not?" he pleaded. "That man of yours…he—"

"Is not something I can talk about," the tactician finished dryly, folding her arms across her chest.

"Not even for me?" Eliwood reached out and uncrossed her arms, holding her wrists gently but firmly. "Della…he _hurt _you. I want to know about him. I want to…understand how anybody could do such a thing."

"You make it sound like he's some sort of villain," she accused, sounding half-strangled.

"He _is!_" Eliwood insisted, quietly but fiercely. "In my eyes, at least!"

"Jeez, he didn't come after me with a _knife_, Eliwood! He just…he just didn't love me back!" Della lowered her gaze, her hands went slack in Eliwood's grip. "You don't have to get all angry…in that crazy, protective way you have…because it's not his fault. I just…all my life, all I've ever seen and heard and read told me that if you really love somebody that much…that it can't go unreciprocated." She bowed her head and closed her eyes. "I am…a loyal person. You know that, don't you? You've seen me. I believed…" She let out a horribly wry little laugh—"I truly believed that if I stayed by him long enough, he would finally come to feel the same way! But…that isn't true. The stories aren't real. The movies aren't real. Kent and Lyn aren't real. I've wasted my entire life on…a lie."

"It couldn't have been meant to be," Eliwood insisted, gazing at her, willing her to raise her head. It frightened him when she got this way.

"Then why would I love him?" she shot back, finally snapping her head up. She glared at him, her eyes shining angrily in the sparse light slanting through Eliwood's window. "Why would I be unable to _stop_ loving him, even when I could see that it was killing me, even when I tried to stop, even when I wanted nothing more than to leave him behind me? _Why _was it so hard to break away?!"

Eliwood blinked, struck by her word choice. "You mean…you _did _break away?"

"What I _did _was get off-topic," Della growled. "We should be talking about _you_, Eliwood. That was the point of these talks, wasn't it?"

"It's not very easy for me to talk about Ninian, either, you know."

"Well, you're the one that brought the subject up!"

"There's…too much to say," he whispered. "I shall try, but I don't know if I could possibly tell it all to you."

"Go ahead," the tactician urged. "I've talked some…it's not fair if you don't talk back to me."

Eliwood closed his eyes, searching the depths of his heart for the right words. "She was…everything. She was why I smiled, because that would reward me with a smile in turn; she was why I bled, because I couldn't stand to see her hurt; she was why I had the courage to keep fighting…because she leant me the hope to imagine a world of peace, a place where she could live without fear. She had been through so much, Della…and when I saw her cry, I…I didn't think I could stand to live. I would have given anything—_anything!_—to make her happy."

"That's a bit one-sided, don't you think?" The tactician sounded a bit skeptical beneath her gentle tone.

"No, no, you don't understand!" Eliwood insisted. "It's not as if she was just something for me to protect…she was an angel, with a strength all her own! When I was sick to my stomach at the thought of war, she showed me her dance and made me feel as if I could accomplish anything. She was kind and wise and _beautiful_…I know this sounds silly, but you must believe me—I could see her heart. And it was fragile and gentle and pure…and I wanted it. I wanted to take her heart and leave mine in its place, so that I could feel it beat forever and ever."

"You're waxing poetic, Pansy-Man," said Della amusedly.

"I told you it was hard to explain!" Eliwood felt himself start to blush—_How baffling! I've never had such trouble expressing myself in words before…but talking about Ninian is different! Having Della LISTEN about Ninian is different! _"And then…there was…I…"

The lord fell silent, and his tactician did not speak either. She was watching him, waiting…perhaps she could sense what it was that he wanted to say. It was right there on the tip of his tongue, raking at his heart, an unbearable guilt racing through his veins--!

He couldn't stop himself. The words spilled out in an anguished whisper:

"I _killed _her, Della!"

"Oh…Eliwood…" The girl's fingers found the top of his head and began slowly combing through his hair. "Come on, don't start the angst-trip…that wasn't your fault…"

"Of course it was!" Pherae's marquess insisted. "I drove my sword straight through her heart! I was covered in her blood!"

"Your sword happened to be Durandal," Della reminded him. "Specially designed to kill dragons."

"Does the man control the sword, or the sword the man?" Eliwood demanded. "I…I should have stopped myself…"

"There's no way you could have known," Della murmured.

Her words were little comfort—Eliwood was already gone, drowning in his most painful memories. He could still remember exactly how Ninian's body felt, going cold within his arms…the agony in her crimson eyes…Nergal's taunting laughter…Nils' horrified scream…the last words she had breathed—relief for his safety! How painfully ironic!

"Eliwood?" Della ventured, breaking him out of his reverie. Her hand trailed down from his hair and rested on his face—which, he realized with a start, felt damp. "Oh, dear…"

"There are some emotions," Eliwood whispered to her, "that do _not _fade with time."

"I'm sorry," she whispered back. "I should have known that talking would only…bring back painful stuff. I didn't mean to—"

"It isn't your fault," Eliwood interrupted quietly. "Talking helps a lot of things…but for this? I'm not sure if there _are _even words to describe how deeply I cared for her, and how terrible I feel for my mistakes. And in the end, it seems that all thinking about her does is make me feel…empty."

"No!" Della exclaimed suddenly, shooting bolt-upright in bed. "No, no, that's not allowed!"

"Della!" Eliwood hissed, startled by her abrupt change in moods, "Calm down! You'll wake somebody up!"

The tactician was ignoring him—Eliwood felt a wave of bewilderment wash over him as she grasped his shoulders, insisting, "You're not allowed to feel empty! That's only something for _real _people, not super-cliché-I've-got-a-really-suave-cape Japanese video game characters!"

"Della," Eliwood said again, softly. He took her hands from his shoulders but did not release them, keeping them in his gentle grasp. "Hush, now. What are you going on about this time?"

"You can't be empty," she said again, her voice fervent and hushed. "Please…not you, not _you…_I'm sorry that I wanted you to talk about Ninian! I could have guessed that remembering her so strongly would only have hurt you, but…I couldn't think of any other way…I didn't know what else…"

"All these nights, you've been protecting me from more than nightmares," Eliwood breathed in accusation.

His fingers slipped from her wrists, she reached up to touch his face. "…I'm worried for you."

"Please," he murmured to her gently, "Don't be. It's like you said—I have to be strong."

"But you're hurting," she pressed. "I-I…I can't stand it when you…"

She didn't finish her sentence—choosing instead to throw her arms around his neck in an extremely tight hug. Eliwood returned it automatically, fought back his confusion and the sudden warmth that was trickling into his bloodstream, and thought for another moment.

"You're right…" he said hesitantly, "I do hurt. But…you don't have to go to these lengths to get me to heal."

"Then what can I do?" she mumbled into his shoulder. "I'm not going to leave you alone, you know."

"That's just it." Eliwood smiled. "If you want to help me…don't leave me alone. Stay with me always."

"How will that solve anything?" Della complained, pulling away slightly to look at his face.

Eliwood tipped her chin up with a finger. "You're my tactician, aren't you? As long as you're at my side to protect me…I shall never be hurt."

"I would never leave you anyway" she told him, laying her head back down on his shoulder. "I...I _couldn't."_

"Then that's all I need," Eliwood said simply, closing his tired eyes. There was no more need to cry.

* * *

Erk was desperate.

He threw open his windows, yearning for fresher air, and was rewarded as a cool autumn breeze came playfully tumbling into his room. He closed his eyes as it tousled his purple hair and forced himself to take a deep, calming breath.

_Be confident. Be confident. That's a Love Guide rule, is it not…? Be confident, Erk, everything will work out for the best…_

He exhaled slowly and reluctantly opened his eyes to gaze at the crisp blue sky. _Blast that sky. What powers does it give to Heath?_

Every since that day that Heath had taken his wyvern and gone out flying…all of Erk's hopes for Priscilla had been plummeting once more. Erk had kept her company all day, and by the end of it she was pacing and chewing her lip…she let him keep his arm around her shoulders, and he had felt so warm that he thought he would glow. But then…Heath had arrived, touching down in front of the manor as the last rays of the sun disappeared beyond the horizon, looking joyous and jocund and so very…relieved. Erk had never seen him smile in such a relaxed manner before...nor had he seen Priscilla hug him quite so tightly.

And then…something had _changed. _Heath wasn't acting so distant anymore…he was walking around with Priscilla in the corridors, not pacing by himself in the gardens…and he would sneak her out at night, which made Erk bristle more than anything else. They were never gone long enough to make him fear a scandal, but it was _more_ than enough time to make him maddeningly jealous.

_What powers did the sky give Heath? _he wondered again, despairingly. _How did it grant such strength, such sudden cheer? _Erk glanced around his room, to the papers and books in neat piles on every conceivable surface, and sighed bitterly. _My only powers come from knowledge and reason…NEITHER of which have ANY say when love is concerned!_

A sudden knock on his door jolted Erk out of his thoughts—and nearly out of his seat by the window. He stomped to the door, rather disgruntled, and flung it open to find…

"Farina?" he gasped, almost collapsing to the floor in relief.

"Here's your letter," the Pegasus rider said brusquely, stuffing a thick wad of parchment into Erk's hands. He fumbled with the transfer and almost dropped it all.

"Oh! Why…why, that was extremely fast…!"

"You…have a problem with that?" Farina asked curiously. "You're looking kind-of…pale. And shaky."

"I'm so relieved," Erk mumbled, quickly thumbing through the pages Serra had sent him. So much more of the Love Guide, just when he needed it…oh, dear Serra, he was _so _glad that she had written to him…_wait!_

_"Dear Serra"?! Since when have I been glad to hear from SERRA?!_

He froze, jaw dropping slightly with surprise, but Farina didn't seem to notice—she just leaned against the doorpost and folded her arms. "You must be pretty desperate if all your advice is coming from Sister Serra. Although…" A wicked grin suddenly lit up her features, and Erk glanced her way in trepidation. "I _did _run into Lady Priscilla in the hallways…she was quite happy to see me, and to know that you and Serra are still writing each other. She said it was very important to keep in touch with old friends."

"That's why I'm here, isn't it?" Erk retorted shortly, and rather bitterly.

Farina reached out and tweaked a lock of his violet hair. "You're here because you won't give up on her, kid. Now hurry up and get back to your reading—I've got to find myself a place to stay in Caerleon before sundown."

"You're staying in Caerleon?" Erk asked with some surprise, ignoring the fact that she had touched him without his consent. "That's odd…I'll certainly have my letter back to Serra written before then…you shouldn't have to wait the whole night."

"I'm not in any hurry to get back to Ostia," Farina informed him with a scowl.

"Why not?" Erk asked, keeping one ear open to hear her reply as he began scanning Serra's letter more carefully.

"Because I'm sick of being surrounded by gold-hungry thieves, chatterbox clerics, shameless womanizers, and possessive idiots who are so obsessed with their own masculinity that they won't let you be by yourself!"

"The former two, I completely understand," Erk muttered, "But womanizers? Be reasonable, Miss Farina…it's not as if you have to deal with, say, Sir Sain anymore."

The Pegasus rider's eye twitched. "How very smart they said you were…and how very little you actually know."

"And who's the possessive idiot?" the sage continued thoughtfully. "I can't remember anyone like that in Ostia…"

"It's the _only _idiot in Ostia, possessive or no!" Farina growled. "That blasted Lord Hector!"

"Ah, 'obsessed with their own masculinity'…" Erk quoted softly. "Haha, I suppose I understand…"

"You have no idea!" complained Farina. "Ever since he caught Sain womanizing _me_, he hasn't let me out of his sight! I went stir-crazy in the span of an hour, snatched Serra's letter, and flew off to you! As if he had any right to be angry…_he's _the one who's always all over Lady Lyndis—"

"Lady Lyn is in Ostia?" Erk interrupted.

Farina's scowl deepened. "Yeah. And Lord Hector hasn't stopped flirting with her since she's arrived. He used to be in love with her, you know…"

"…Flirting?" Erk repeated, unable to envision the brash Hector of Ostia taking part in such a frivolous verb. _And in the present tense, too…_

"It's disgusting. He's always leaning on her shoulder, or taking her hand to lead her somewhere…"

"And they say _I'm _clueless about love?" Erk rolled his eyes. "Please. That's not flirting."

"Then what is it?!" Farina demanded.

Erk fixed her with a cool, level stare. "That's just how the two of them are—and how they always have been. Lady Lyn can act like a child around Florina, and say anything she wants around Lord Eliwood…and it seems that she and Lord Hector just have less of a touch barrier. It's a quirk in their friendship, nothing more."

"How do you know?" asked Farina suspiciously.

"Unless I'm mistaken, I have known both of them a great deal longer than you have," replied Erk archly, in a tone that clearly implied that he was _not _mistaken. Since Farina did not retort, he turned and walked back to his seat by the window to fully examine Serra's letter.

"…Hurry up and write your reply before the hour's up," Farina said softly from the doorway. "Like you usually do."

Erk jerked his head up. "Why? You're staying in Caerleon this time…so I have all night to write it."

"Well, I changed my mind!" Farina snarled. "So hurry up and write!"

Erk fought to keep his lips from quirking upward as he inclined his head. _So eager to get back to Ostia? I certainly noticed why that is…perhaps I AM getting better at understanding love. _"Of course, of course, Miss Farina…and, while you're at it, would you mind delivering a letter to Della for me?"

"If you can persuade Lord Hector to pay me for it."

Erk chuckled in response before standing to go find quill. Farina put a finger to her chin thoughtfully.

"She's in Pherae, right?"

"With Lord Eliwood, yes," Erk answered calmly. He reached his desk and began sifting through stacks of paper. _I know I left that white quill around here somewhere…_

"What is she still doing there?" Farina sounded skeptical. "Everyone else has gone home…but as far as I know, she isn't Pheraean."

Erk shrugged, uncaring and still unable to find his writing materials. _I suppose I'll just have to use the grey one…ah, I never thought I'd say this, but it feels so good to be in correspondence with Serra…I've never felt such joy at receiving letters before…_

* * *

Eliwood hadn't expected the foreshadowing.

Of course, there were always a lot of things that happened in his life that he didn't expect—especially if Della was involved. Yet the morning started out like any other, and he ate his usual breakfast, and he was joined by his tactician after the usual twenty minutes, and he was too tired to say more than the usual small talk…

And then Della got a letter.

Even _that _wasn't uncanny, however…Eliwood knew that she wrote to former members of the army often…from Sain and Kent, to Pent, to Lucius. Even the scatter-brained Canas managed to dash her a hasty note every once in a while, although Erk was her most regular correspondent…

"Is it from Erk?" Eliwood asked, leaning over in curiosity to see the envelope that a servant was handing to his tactician, saying something about how a Pegasus rider had dropped it off.

"Looks like it," Della replied, studying the seal. She ripped the paper open and unfolded the letter, holding it out in a silent invitation for Eliwood to read it too.

"Dear Della, blah blah blah blah blah…" the girl read aloud under her breath. Eliwood skipped the formalities and glanced down to the middle of the letter.

"_So you asked me for details concerning the relationship between Heath and Priscilla…which, I regret to inform you, are probably too meager for your tastes. Hopeless romantic though you may be, I can comment upon such matters only through a cold and scientific eye."_

"An outright lie," Della muttered.

"_The last I heard, Heath had fully pledged his love to her—made a vow, in fact, that he would never leave her side. He has been very carefree as of late, and Priscilla seems very happy with this—as opposed to his previous, more brooding nature. She does, however, seem a little skeptical of his promise. I know that she trusts him completely, but she speaks of a foreboding aura she can feel pulsing in the air…I don't understand her in the least."_

"Me neither," Eliwood muttered.

"That's because it's FEMALE INTUITION!" Della cried, now feverishly scanning the page.

"_…Quite a silly notion, of course. They are extremely devoted to each other. What could possibly keep them apart?"_

"Oh my gosh," Della breathed. "No…oh _no_…there it is!" She pointed a trembling finger at the previous line of impeccable handwriting.

"Where _what _is?" asked Eliwood.

"The foreshadowing!" Della screeched. "The hint! There it is! I can feel that foreboding aura now! Oh, Erk, you and your ironically blatant word choice!"

"I don't understand," Eliwood retorted with a frown.

"Foreshadowing!" wailed Della again, throwing the letter up into the air and sending sheets of parchment cascading down around them like a paper-cut-inducing snowstorm. "This is just like that time in Nabata, when Ninian was all 'I'm super-duper hot!' and you were all 'Here, super-duper-hot-in-both-ways Ninian, take my arm!' and I was all 'SWEET JESUS, there it is!'"

"Once again, you have lost me," Eliwood informed her dryly.

Della just sighed and sank her cheek into her hand. "The gift of guessing-every-plot-twist-before-it-happens is not one everyone can follow, Eliwood…we'll just have to wait and see how this all plays out."

* * *

When Rath walked back into the tent, Kent almost cringed—now that he had experienced the brutality of the Kutolah, he wasn't quite sure how an angry Rath would act. Yet he did not cower—no knight of Caelin ever would!—and instead looked up into the nomad's face…to see that Rath had calmed down some.

"You…have quite a fine horse," Rath finally whispered, snapping the taut line of tension.

Kent was bewildered by such a statement, but could not keep himself from smiling. "Why…thank you. Yes, I'm very lucky to have Gareth…I couldn't ask for a better—"

"Gareth?" Rath interrupted, sounding almost…incredulous.

Kent blushed, instantly tightening his fingers upon his blanket as if it were the reins that would halt his foolish words. "Er…well…I, yes, it…that's his name."

"You've…named your horse?" The nomad raised an eyebrow. Kent lowered his gaze meekly and nodded, feeling rather foolish.

Rath hesitated a long moment before asking, "…How did you know of that custom?"

"Custom?" asked Kent, abruptly raising his head.

"We name our horses," Rath explained, finally locking his eyes on Kent's—his gaze was serious, but not hostile, as it had been a moment ago. "They are intelligent creatures…strong, and often gentle. Without them, we would have a hard time hunting…a hard time _living _here, in Sacae. Whenever a foal is born, it is given a name…the same way a name would be given to a child."

"I didn't know," said Kent, awed and pleased by such a view. "I did not know my horse until it had already grown, but…we grew a very strong bond of trust together. Soon I began calling him…by a name. Talking to him. And it just felt right. So…he became Gareth."

"He always _had _been Gareth," Rath whispered.

Kent's smile widened…and nearly turned into an all-out grin as Rath gestured towards the cooking rabbit to show that it was ready to eat. "That was for you, you know."

"Oh?" Kent was surprised again—but pleasantly so. His stomach was still aching. "I…wasn't sure if I was allowed to eat it."

Rath sat down by the fire and proceeded to remove the rabbit meat for Kent to eat. "You may know nothing of our customs, but we Kutolah are not _that _harsh."

"…Speaking of customs…" Kent ventured hesitantly as he accepted the small wooden plate with his food.

Rath's face instantly darkened, and Kent knew that the nomad had guessed what he wanted to talk about—the bracelet.

"I need to learn," the red knight whispered. "You are the only person I know in all of Sacae…I won't know where else to go, who else to turn to, if I cannot learn from you."

Rath was silent for a very long time—so long a time, in fact, that Kent was sure he was being ignored. But suddenly Rath asked him, sharply,

"Why do you love her?"

Kent was dumbfounded. "I…I don't know. I just do."

Rath snorted in contempt. Kent furrowed his brow.

"Because…she is beautiful," he finally ventured slowly. "And kind, and intelligent. She is someone who—simply by living—encourages others to be better people."

"I did not ask why you were _attracted _to her," Rath muttered, glaring daggers at the knight. "I asked why you _love _her."

Kent felt a wave of despair wash over him. Rath wanted an answer far deeper than Kent could explain in mere words, or even comprehend in mere thoughts. That was like asking why the sun traveled through the sky, why grass grew up from the ground, why the wind blew. It just _was_. That was how it had always been, and how it would always be—it was a law, a bond stronger than any human could define. And yet, Kent was charged with explaining it…or else, he knew, he would receive no help from Rath. He took a deep breath.

"I love her…because…" Kent began, his voice hardly above a whisper, "sometimes…she closes her eyes when she feels the wind. And in that moment, it is as if she has become infinitely wise, as if she knows the secrets that the sky has seen and kept hidden for centuries. Her stance is always defiant and powerful…but her face is so gentle, so open. In that moment…I can see—I can _know_, with every thought in my head and every fiber of my body…that she is the strongest woman in the world, but…she is lonely. And I would rather die than let her stay that way. She means more to me than even my own life. So…it is not a question of why I love her…it is a question of how I could possibly _not_."

Rath was quiet for another long stretch of time. Kent bowed his head as a blush of embarrassment raged across his face and did not speak, feeling like a fool. He wished he was good with words, like Sain, he wished he could make Rath understand…but he had blown his chance. To even sigh was an act of arrogance for a failure like himself.

"Get up," Rath suddenly spat, heaving himself to his feet.

Kent's head shot up; he blinked dazedly. "Pardon?"

Rath was already nearly out the door of the tent. He turned to Kent with grudging respect in his eyes. "Do you want to learn how to make the bracelet or not?"

Kent was baffled, but after a moment he found the strength to sputter, "Y-yes!" and leap up. The world spun around wildly for a moment, he almost fell…his head was throbbing…but then the pain lessened, his vision cleared, and he was following Rath out into the bright sunlight.

* * *

_A/N: Uhg! Might I apologize for this chapter? It was just…I don't know. Not my best. Some of it was entertaining to write—like the I'm-still-up-at-two-in-the-morning-writing-beat-poetry-so-I-might-as-well-write-some-PriscillaxHeath scene, which turned out to be kinda beatnicky itself xD…(although I'm a stickler for grammar, I actually really love how none of it matters in beat poetry…)… Sain's scheming was also pretty fun. I know that he would normally never kiss a girl on such a whim—he really is very serious about those sorts of things—but he did it for Farina and Hector's sakes. For the sake of love. Or some other such cliché nonsense._

_But really…overall? The majority of this chapter was so…laborious. There was a reason I called it "Pain", and it's NOT just because everyone is angsting again and Sain gets punched in the face xD. It felt like I was writing just to transition from one bit of the plot to the next…it wasn't fun, and I don't feel good about it now that it's finished. (And it took flippin' FOREVER to get Eliwood and Della to open up to each other! Jeez! I know that some people have a hard time talking about their problems, but I didn't know BOTH of them were like that! I'm sorry that they took up such an obscene amount of space in this chapter…the more main pairings will be more prominent in the next chapter, never fear.) Even the writing style itself looks drab to me, as I'm reading over this…I hope you can forgive my shortcomings._

_Please review? I MUST IMPROVE! _


	13. Choice

_A/N: 35 pages, this time…I win. Against myself. (Er, I have a question…are the ridiculous lengths of my chapters hindering anybody from reading this? That's totally understandable, in my book, especially considering that some people are so busy…if you think I should break things up a bit more, please let me know.)_

_So. I can't remember where, but I could've sworn that I remember reading somewhere about the bad blood between Lycia and Sacae…did the Lycians use the Sacaens as slaves? I thought that's what it was, though I'm not sure how that notion got into my head…but I'm using said notion. I've decided that it makes a bunch of sense, anyway. Lycians are modeled off of the Europeans. Sacaens are clearly natives (based off the Mongols, supposedly, although I've noted a great many Native American traits in their culture). Guess what happens when Europeans go to any place with a different culture? SLAVERY! (/end history lesson)_

_**Chapter Thirteen--Choice**_

_So, Erky, what's new in Caerleon…? _

She was just…checking up on him. Er, because news in Ostia was slow. Because she wanted some gossip. Because she had nothing else to do. Because…because because because she loved him and missed him and worried for him…!

How he hated that nickname. _Please, just Erk, thank you very much. Nothing seems to have changed._

_Maybe you should…_More advice.

It was all he had to go on._ --Took your advice, though it seemed to have little effect on Priscilla. She's so very in love…_

_…and make sure you don't look down at the floor, and, oh! Remember to…_Couldn't say enough. She wasn't there. She didn't know the exact situation.

_This shouldn't be so difficult. _Why was _everything _easier to understand than this confounding emotion?!

_Love Guide Rule number 31: don't ever think you know what girls are thinking. Because you'll be wrong. _Poor boy was probably actually trying to understand this confounding emotion.

Perhaps he needed a distraction. --_and this book I have been reading detailing the anatomy of pegasi…_

_NO ONE CARES ABOUT YOUR BOOKS. Now write some more about the romance! _She had to know. She had to. It was tearing her apart. Surely someone as charming and intelligent as Erk could start to win Priscilla over…

There was no charm or intelligence. Only despair. _Even her parents are beginning to warm up to him…_

Ooh, hooray, what a pretty color!_--got a new dress, it's absolutely darling!--_

_I thought we were talking about the romance. Not that it matters. Truth be told, I find this quite disheartening, Serra. Nothing much has changed…and I doubt that anything will. She and Heath are closer than ever, always seen together…_

_Well OBVIOUSLY you should…_

_Please. Use. Grammar. I swear to Saint Elimine, your last letter was nigh impossible to read…_

* * *

It was dawn, and he was awake, standing out on his castle's grounds. He wasn't quite sure _why _he was up so blasted early…but it didn't really matter right then, because he could see her there in front of the stables, because he never got to see her much these days, because Erk and Serra—the letter-writing wonders—were keeping her constantly on the run between Ostia and Caerleon.

She looked rather peaceful in the pink glow of the rising sun…a little grumpy, perhaps, and tired, but at least peaceful. It was a clear winter morning—cold, but fresh rather than biting.

She finished buckling the last strap on her Pegasus' saddle, looked into its eyes with a satisfied smile…

"Leaving so soon?" asked Hector, breaking the cool and perfect stillness as he walked towards her.

Farina gave a small start to see him approaching over the frost-covered grass—already fully dressed for the day, cape and all. "Lord Hector? I thought you'd still be snoring at this hour."

"I couldn't sleep," he muttered.

Farina scowled. "Well, don't go blaming that on _me_...I didn't even sleep in your room, this time!"

Hector chuckled slightly—that was true. Over the past couple of weeks, a contest of sorts had sprung up between them: if Farina could beat Hector to his huge and extravagant bedchamber, she would then usurp his bed as she had her first night in Ostia, thus forcing him to sleep on the couch on the other side of the room (because, as much as she had started protesting that a true gentleman would leave a lady to her privacy, Hector was _not _going to let the wench kick him out of the room itself!)…however, if Hector managed to win the race back to his bed, Farina—refusing to sleep on a couch—would storm off to the _next _best room she could find. Leaving him a night of peace and quiet.

It was the quiet that had woken him up.

"…So…back to Caerleon, eh?" Hector changed the topic, pointing at Murphy. The pegasus glared at him—he had never liked Ostia's lord much.

"Yeah." Farina put her hand on her steed's white nose to calm him down a bit. "Those kids are pretty ridiculous. I feel a bit bad for Erk, but it's like he just doesn't understand…Lady Priscilla is _never _going to go for a guy like him."

"What _I _don't understand is why Serra is trying to help him win Priscilla over," Hector admitted. "Didn't she like him, a little bit?"

"Oh, she's crazy about him," Farina retorted. She put her foot in the stirrup and hoisted herself up into Murphy's saddle. "But that's why she's doing this—duh."

"I don't really get it." Hector scratched his head.

Farina rolled her eyes. "Men…"

And with that she took off, launching herself into the bright, cold air, causing Hector to jump out of the way as Murphy's massive wings propelled them off of the ground. The wind from those snowy wings tugged at his crimson cape and tousled his hair, but Hector found himself ignoring it, concentrating only on the white form that was Farina until she was too small to see anymore.

* * *

"Like…like this?" Kent asked hesitantly, his fingers fumbling on the knot he was making.

Rath leaned over from where he was sitting beside Kent, making arrows, and shook his head with a frown. He plucked the tangle of colored string from Kent's hands, deftly undid the knot, and ordered,

"Again."

Kent stifled a sigh and went back to the complicated art of bracelet-making. The two were sitting in the long, yellowed grasses of Sacae, on the outskirts of the Kutolah camp, where no one could see Kent. Rath had finally—if reluctantly—agreed to teach Kent what he needed to know. It had looked so easy…and yet, the skills did not come to Kent, no matter how hard he tried. He wished that he was a quick learner, someone like Erk or Canas or Lord Pent…or even Sain, for that matter--the green knight had always been an intelligent child during their days as pages (even if he never cared enough to do his assignments), able to memorize things quickly and remember them later. Kent had never been able to do that…he had only been able to complete his assignments after lots of careful study.

Such was the case with this bracelet, it seemed. He had been attempting this for hours already, and still hadn't been able to memorize all the different types of knots and ties—let alone make them correctly! Rath was starting to lose his patience, his lips pressed together in a thin line.

_I must get this right! I couldn't have come so far to give up now! What would Lyndis think?_

"Rath?" a new voice asked. Kent looked up quickly to see two other Sacaens approaching—one of whom, the red knight realized with a start, looked very familiar. The youthful face, the wiry frame, the long, dark braid…

"Guy!" gasped Kent.

The sword wielder smiled. "Yeah—that's me! It's good to see you up and about, Sir Kent!"

"Guy, what are you doing here?" Kent was baffled. "I…you…you're Kutolah?"

"Every bit of me." Guy smiled proudly and thumped a fist over his heart. "Bet you didn't know that, did you? The only reason I left my tribe in the first place was to become a better warrior…and fighting Nergal sure helped! Even though I wasn't nearly as good as Rath—" he broke off and nodded towards the scowling nomad—"I decided that I would be able to come back without disgracing myself. I can protect my family now."

"And he won't let us forget it," a voice grumbled.

Guy grinned sheepishly and stepped aside to give way to the figure behind him: a middle-aged woman, short and stout, with large eyes and graying green hair plaited into two long braids down her back. She, too, looked oddly familiar to Kent. Her dark eyes twinkled as she looked down at the red knight.

"My son seems to think that he could single-handedly protect his tribe and me now that he's killed a dozen or so bandits."

"And some soldiers!" Guy protested hotly, instantly blushing. "A-and some archers…and some swordsmen, like me!"

His mother smiled patiently at him before returning his attention to Kent. "Bad timing on your arrival, eh?" she asked him with a wink.

"Yeah, no kidding!" Guy was quick to second. "I thought Chief Dayan was going to kill you, for sure! Man, Rath, your dad sure is tough--"

"My father relies too heavily on superstition," Rath replied through gritted teeth.

Guy's face softened. "I…I see. Well?" He abruptly changed the topic, looking to Kent again. The red knight wondered what he had missed. "So, Sir Kent, what are you doing out here, anyway? Rath was just as silent as always, so I couldn't get much out of him…" The young Sacaean trailed off and looked at Kent, as if begging him with his eyes to tell his tale.

Kent paused a moment—he hadn't known Guy very well, back during the war, and he knew the drastic twists of his story with Lyn were almost laughable, in retrospect…yet Kent was so glad to have found a friendly presence in the hostile Kutolah camp that he found his words spilling from his mouth, explaining everything: his love for Lyndis, their strange engagement, his journey to make her bracelet. Which he couldn't seem to get right.

"Having trouble learning the patterns?" asked Guy, who had listened raptly and eagerly, once the red knight was through. "Don't worry, you'll get them in no time…even _I _managed to learn them all!"

"And you're never even going to find yourself a woman to marry," his mother countered, tweaking his ear.

"Ouch! Come on, Ma, that's not true…right? Right? Really! I-I…I'm n-not gonna be completely hopeless!"

"Well, don't be completely hopeless somewhere where you can be useful," his mother scolded, "and go fetch some food for these two men! That Lycian fellow looks positively _gaunt_."

Guy looked momentarily perturbed, as if the word left an odd taste in his mouth, but he soon smiled and waved to Kent and Rath as he walked away. "Well, okay, then! I'll be back soon!"

The woman shook her head wearily, but she smiled again at Kent and the red knight could suddenly see where the warmth and sincerity of Guy's own smile came from. The gesture lit up her dark green eyes in a kind fashion as she sank down to sit cross-legged before Kent and Rath, greeting, "I'm Lori."

"Lori…" Kent repeated, making sure that he could say the word correctly. "Forgive me, but…have we met, before?"

Her smile grew, her eyes crinkled at the corners. "Not formally, no. I'm surprised that you would remember me, though…you were asleep most of the time, when I was there…"

Kent looked to Rath for an explanation. Rath, seeming as disinclined to talk as always, stared pointedly at Lori. The older woman shrugged, as if to say, _fine._

"Well," she told Kent, "You don't think Rath could have cared for you for all that time by himself, did you? I helped him watch you—Guy and I both."

Kent put a hand to the neatly wound strips of cloth around his head. "I owe you my thanks."

"You owe nothing," Lori assured him, her kind demeanor suddenly leaving and replacing itself with something far frostier. "The business of doing a kindness to have someone owe you later is purely a _Lycian _practice." She spat the word out, as if it burned her tongue.

Kent looked over to Rath with a tiny, wry smile. "Is this why we are hiding at the very edge of your camp?"

Rath raised an eyebrow, as if finding Kent an idiot for not realizing this before. Some benevolence returned to Lori's smile.

"Some folks might not take kindly to you, right away," she told him softly. "Your people were not kind to us, in the past."

"I've heard," Kent whispered back. "My ancestors…they used you as slaves, did they not?"

Lori nodded grimly; Rath's face only hardened all the more.

"Although…perhaps your kind _are _more merciful than mine," the nomad hissed, not looking up from the arrow he was fletching. "At least slaves have food to eat. A roof to sleep beneath. A place to stay—even if they are allowed nowhere else."

Kent looked his way, his head cocked in confusion. "I…I don't understand, Rath."

"You need to let go of your anger," said Lori softly to the nomad. "It will do no one any good. The smoothest course—and the best thing for the tribe—is to forgive Chief Dayan."

"Forgive a superstitious old man who would cast out his only son?" Rath demanded in a quiet, lethal voice. He trembled ever-so-slightly, as if he wanted to hurl down his arrows and storm away, but he kept his composure with a grace that Kent was forced to admire.

"He was doing what he thought was best for the tribe." Lori defended her chief in a low voice.

"I was a _child_," Rath shot back through clenched teeth. "I hardly knew how to talk. I didn't have anywhere to go…I didn't know what I could eat…I almost died."

"It was for the best, wasn't it?" asked Lori gently. "The stories you told upon your return, Rath…the demon that you helped the Lycian lords defeat…surely that justifies why your father cast you out?"

Rath glowered down at the arrows in his lap in response.

Lori huffed. "Well, you didn't have to come back at all!"

"I had no other life to go back to," Rath mumbled angrily. Kent realized that this was probably the truth—at one point, Rath had been captain of the guard in Araphen, but had quit after finding Lyndis and being insulted by the marquess himself…so why _would_ Rath want to stay in Araphen? To serve a man who had looked down upon Sacaens with scorn—who would have _killed_ Lyndis, if given the chance? Rath clearly had no home in Lycia. Kent felt a twinge of pity, to think that Rath might not have had a home in Sacae, either.

A somewhat awkward silence grew between the three until Guy returned with a basket of cornbread, loudly and cheerfully oblivious to their dark moment. The food helped to ease the tension—Kent felt a twinge of amusement as he remembered sparring with Lowen, the ever-hungry knight of Pherae. Perhaps Lowen deserved more credit for his strange culinary passions than anybody gave him. Kent fell into a light conversation with the three Sacaens—well, two, since Rath hardly counted…well, _one_, since Guy did most of the talking, anyway—about other marriage customs of Sacae, which turned out to be rather similar to his own traditions: a huge feast, a community dance, vows pledged before a multitude of witnesses. Kent was just beginning to actually enjoy himself when Lori looked up at the sun and made a face.

"It's time to get going," she said, hefting herself to her feet. Guy sprang up as well, but looked disappointed.

"B-but why? Can't we stay a little longer?"

"It's our turn to check on the horses," his mother shot back. "Or have you forgotten?"

"No, I just—"

"Well, come on, then!"

"Yeah, but I think it'd be really good to help Sir Kent and—"

The young swordsman was still babbling as his mother took him by the wrist and led him away. Kent stared after them, still awed by the fact that he would be able to find a familiar—and friendly!—face amidst the foreign plains of Sacae. The knowledge was a greater comfort to him than he would have imagined.

"I had no idea that Guy was from your tribe," he breathed, looking to Rath.

The nomad did not look back, but merely grunted: "He's not."

"He's not?" Kent felt his brows meet in confusion. "But…why is he here, with his family, if he is not in your tribe?"

Rath glanced up at the red knight, the faintest trace of what might've been a smile tugging at one corner of his mouth. "He talks too much to be Kutolah."

A laugh escaped Kent—quick and sharp, before he could stop it. He covered his mouth with a hand, unsure of whether it was alright to laugh at Rath's words or not, and the nomad's ghost of a smile widened ever-so-slightly.

* * *

It was snowing in Ostia by the time Farina returned.

"Bloody idiot boy with no bloody social skills all the way over in bloody _Caerleon_..." she hissed, jumping from her steed. Murphy flicked his wings, sending snow flying, as Farina led him into the stable. It was only slightly warmer in the musty, hay-strewn building, and she struggled to unsaddle her pegasus--her hands were numb and shaking, making it hard for her to undo the buckles.

"Here, let me help," a voice said, and suddenly Hector's face appeared on Murphy's other side.

Farina scowled. "I can do it myself...besides, Murphy doesn't even like you--"

She had hardly gotten her words out before the steed in question snorted and rounded its head on Hector, snapping its teeth. Hector jerked back a bit, but did not show fear...rather, he _glared _at Murphy, slowly reached into his cloak, and pulled out a carrot.

"Came prepared this time, did you?" Farina asked in surprise as Murphy slowly sniffed Hector's offering and gently took it from the lord's hand. "How did you even know he liked carrots?"

Hector put a hand on her pegasus' nose and shot her an arrogant, knowing smile. "He only likes _noble _carrots, if I recall."

Farina froze. She was paralyzed by his words, by his gaze, by his unspeakably irritating yet inexplicably handsome smirk..._Noble carrots. He remembered. _He had remembered that day on the battlefield when she had asked him for another raise, to buy food for Murphy...and when he had asked why the pegasus couldn't just eat carrots like all the other horses, Farina had responded that Murphy was a_ pegasus_, a _noble_ horse...and therefore needed noble carrots to eat.

Hector held her gaze for a moment before his cocky smile shifted into a warm one and he returned to unsaddling Murphy, his eyes flicking back and forth between the buckles and Farina's face. She smiled back before joining him. Soon Murphy was freed and settled happily back in his warm stall.

Farina breathed a sigh of relief, made visible in the cold air let in by the open stable doors. As she and Hector walked outside (she noticed that he shut the heavy doors behind them to save the stable boy a trip), she couldn't suppress a shiver as a blast of winter wind assaulted them.

Hector looked down at her, his eyes surprisingly concerned. "Are you alright?"

"Of course I am!" Farina snorted. "I grew up in Ilia--this wind is _nothing_, Lord Hector."

Despite her words, however, she was unable to control another shudder as it passed down her spine. Hector frowned, stopped walking, and took her hands. His strong fingers felt hot as they closed over hers.

"Your hands are freezing," he whispered.

"I _have_ been outside in the snow all day," Farina retorted. Hector's frown only deepened, his hands tightened upon hers.

"We should get you inside, then. Wouldn't want you to get sick again..."

Farina wrenched her hands from his grasp and glared up at him. "That's not funny!"

"Who says I was joking?" Hector asked...though the mischievous twinkle behind his gaze betrayed him.

Farina scowled, but allowed him to put an arm around her shoulders--he _was_ quite warm, after all--and walk her into the castle.

* * *

Heath stood inside, his fingertips against the icy windowpane, and stared up at the crisp, blue sky. _It's not worth it…not today…_

Her soft, musical voice was sounding by his ear before he even heard her approach: "Aren't you going flying today?"

Heath turned his head to smile at Priscilla, feeling a rebellious thrill run through him as he murmured, "Nope."

That was a bad idea—a _stupid _idea. He should go out "flying", as she called it, the paranoid scouting he could disguise as a leisure activity, keeping his eyes trained for the wyvern riders of Bern. They _would _keep searching for him, of that he had no doubt…and, if they were under a commander as capable of Dame Vaida, they _would _find him, as well. He had been one of them, once—he knew what a mission to find somebody was. It was a _hunt. _And no matter how long it took, Bern never gave up on their prey.

But…really, what did it matter, going out to scout another day? They hadn't found him so far—they wouldn't have any idea of where to look for him. He had a lot of time. Besides, he didn't want to be up there in the freezing air, all alone, so…_ungrounded. _He could have a better life if he just stayed still for once, if he could find a new place to pledge his loyalty—which, despite his standing as a "traitor", was still one of the most important things to him. How wonderful it was that he had something here, right by his side, that he knew he could never betray.

That was how he had come to be inside the manor on a cold day, staring out at the sky instead of soaring up to it. He wrapped an arm around Priscilla's waist, drawing her close to his side, and she stared up at him with a happy bemusement.

"You're not going to?" she asked him. "Why?"

"Because I'd rather be down here with you," Heath replied, pressing his lips to her hair.

She flung her arms around his waist in an embrace—tight, and almost desperate. Heath returned it, but was somewhat baffled:

"What's this for?"

"I just like when you're with me," the healer whispered into his shirt. "I trust you, and I know that you wouldn't abandon me…but sometimes, when you leave, I can't help but…I feel like…I'm so scared that…"

Her fingers twisted into the material of the back of his shirt, she took a choppy breath that might've been a sob. Heath bent down slightly, to her level, so that he could look into her eyes…and found that they were, indeed, sparkling with tears.

"Pris?! Why are you…?"

"I'm sorry!" she gasped, trembling slightly in his arms, clearly trying hard to keep from crying. "It's not that I don't believe all your promises…but…R-raymond made me a promise, too, and my father sent me away, and…oh, Heath, I still get frightened!"

The wyvern rider tightened his arms around her, feeling her bury her face in his chest. _Elimine…_Wrath burned within him—at Raven, at the men who had destroyed Cornwell, at everyone who had left her standing there, alone. He finally realized it: the reason why she hated it when he left on Hyperion, free to leave forever if he so wished; the reason she seemed so desperate for his attentions; the reason that his promises to stay, repeated over and over, still did little to calm her down; the reason she kept someone as dependable as Erk around. Priscilla was afraid—terribly, violently, overwhelmingly afraid—of being alone. She feared that loneliness more than anything else in the world.

"Priscilla," Heath whispered, bringing a hand up to stroke her fiery hair, "I believe I understand."

"U-understand what?" she asked, looking up at him timidly.

Heath did not answer at first. He looked out the window again, absentmindedly threaded his fingers through her hair, and finally asked, "Do you remember the first promise I ever made you?"

Priscilla seemed surprised by this. "O-our first kiss? The day you promised me that…we would find a way to be together?"

"I made good on my word, didn't I?" he pressed.

"Why, yes…yes, of course you did." Her fingers latched tighter to the fabric of his shirt. "Heath, what do you mean by this?"

"That I'm not a deserter." The wyvern rider turned and looked her straight in the eye, his gaze fierce and defiant. "I might be a criminal as far as Bern is concerned…but I am no traitor. I am a loyal man. I fight for what I think is right—for what I love. And I never back down on my word." His hand slipped down from her hair until it was resting on her cheek. "You know that, don't you, Priscilla? That I keep my promises?"

"Yes, I know," she whispered softly. Her eyes were filled with the love that only Priscilla was capable of—limitless, open, unguarded. As he watched, her lips slowly curved upwards in smile, the tears in her eyes somehow making it even more beautiful. She knew what he was going to say.

"Priscilla…if your parents ever _do _agree to our marriage…when would you want it to be?"

He didn't think that she could have embraced him any tighter, but she managed to do so. "Oh, Heath!"

He chuckled as he held her in turn. He could hear footsteps coming down the hallway but he found himself not caring. She didn't even seem to notice—she just babbled happily.

"It doesn't matter to me when the wedding is, maybe late in the summer, and then we can have lots of flowers, and maybe Raymond will come to see us and I suppose Lucius could pass as a bridesmaid if he wanted to come, too, and—"

The footsteps got louder, and suddenly Erk was in view, passing by in the corridor. He froze for a moment, looking at Priscilla and her smiles and the emerald joy in her eyes…hearing her words. He bit his lip, but otherwise seemed to show no emotion as he locked eyes with Heath for a brief moment. The mage had turned and walked away before Priscilla had even noticed his presence. Heath had to hand it to the younger man—he really cared for Priscilla. He really had a lot of self-control.

But this respect for Erk was dwarfed by a surge of delirious, ecstatic victory as Heath pressed his lips to Priscilla's hair. _I can be just as loyal to her. Nothing can take her away from me now—not her parents, not Bern, and not even _you_._

xXx

Erk managed to keep his composure until he made it to his room and shut the dark wooden door behind him. Then he sagged against it with a dry sob of disbelief.

_Marriage?! Oh, Elimine…!_

Erk staggered to his desk. He was trembling violently as he reached for his quill, his shaking hands knocking half-a-dozen items off his desk in the process. He proceeded to write a hasty letter to Serra, hardly paying attention to the words he scrawled down, and he sealed it without even proof-reading it. He couldn't wait for Farina. He would send it out with the first messenger that he could find—and he didn't _care _that it would take ages longer to get to Ostia, he…he _needed _Serra!

He gripped the edges of his desk, feeling himself spiral into panic. He had never gotten so worked-up with Serra around…he was always too busy chasing after her—or running from her as she chased him--to think too deeply about his own life. She was always smiling, always dragging him around, never giving him the room to feel so much despair—she'd just fill all the horrible agony with severe irritation! Thinking back on it, on how much he despised her presence…he realized that he was wrong, now. She was still his friend. And, strange as it sounded, his time at Priscilla's had given him a reason to…depend on her.

He sort-of missed her.

"No, no, no I don't!" Erk insisted to himself, squeezing his eyes shut and shaking his head vigorously. "That's just desperation talking! Because I knew she liked me once—that's it! I want her with me because I want to feel _wanted _again! Pure desperation!"

_Oh, Priscilla…why? I've been trying so hard…can't you see what it'll do to me if you marry Heath? Then I won't ever have another chance! _

Elimine, how he loved her. She was gentle and kind, brave and beautiful…she was going to be Heath's. Forever. He didn't know what he was going to do. He just dashed out the door to find a messenger.

_Serra…Serra, write back quickly!_

* * *

"But it feels like you just got here," Hector complained.

He stood before the gate, the only doorway in the vast walls that encircled his palace. Lyn smiled down at him from her horse.

"Hector, you know that I've been preparing to leave. I've been here for weeks…don't you think that it's time for me to start imposing on Eliwood, instead of on you?"

"I don't mind!" Hector insisted.

Lyn's smile tightened. "Yes, well, I'd also like to get far away from those with delicate stomachs when I punish Sain."

The green knight, on a horse that stood alongside his lady's, turned as white as a sheet. "M-milady, I've assured you that I can explain—"

"There was—is!--no excuse for touching Farina that way," Hector growled.

"Calm down, Hector," said Lyn wearily. "Sain went way too far in 'wooing' Farina, but I can promise you that he won't ever make a mistake like that again."

Sain gulped. _Blast it, Matthew…that plan of ours had BETTER work!_

Farina, standing at Hector's side, folded her arms and shrugged. "Really, that's not necessary. That incident was a whole week ago…and besides, Lord Hector nailed him pretty good."

"Not good enough," Hector muttered to her, keeping his voice low so that Lyn wouldn't hear. Farina felt goose bumps rise on her arms at his voice, and it took a moment for her to remember that she was still supposed to be angry at him about the whole incident. _Ah, yes, that's right—he's an oaf. And stupid._

Lyn only shrugged. "He has to learn sometime…_don't _you, Sain?"

"My lady," Sain whined pleadingly.

The Sacaen just sighed heavily and shook her head. A silence fell between the four, bordering on uncomfortable, which Farina finally broke by saying something about getting Serra to write letters faster and slipping away.

After another moment of silence, Hector looked up, meeting Lyn's gaze boldly. She was startled to see that there was actual sorrow in his eyes. "Well…I'll miss you," he said gruffly.

A wave of emotion swept through Lyn and she found that she couldn't restrain herself—she leapt from her horse and into Hector's arms, hugging him tightly. As he returned the embrace, Lyn was forced to recall other, more awkward memories of his arms, of his lips, of the words he once said to her: "I love you, Lyn." This, however, was purely friendly, and Lyn felt her heart swell until she thought it would burst. Hector was one of her most valuable friends. She had hated leading him on, and she had hated hurting him…but she was glad that they were strong enough to overcome the past.

She was glad that someone else had entered his life.

"Hector," she whispered suddenly.

"Hm?"

Lyn pulled away slightly, enough to look up at him for a moment, before she let her gaze slide to the castle door that Farina had made her way towards. "…She's a good choice."

"W-whaddaya mean?" Hector demanded. Lyn was amused to see him flush, ever-so-slightly.

"She's a good choice," Lyn repeated. "For you. She's perfect. Congratulations."

Now flashing Hector a sincere smile, the swordswoman slipped out of his embrace and took her leave, squeezing his shoulder once as she passed. Hector just stared after her, mouth agape.

xXx

"Well?" said Lyn dryly, once she and Sain were a reasonable distance away from Ostia. "I have to admit, Sain, I didn't believe Hector when he first told me that you had accosted Farina in such a manner. You might be a scoundrel, but I've never heard of you being so bold."

"As I have promised milady before, I had a good reason," Sain insisted quietly, keeping his head bowed.

"I'm listening."

"Well…" Sain clutched the reins of his horse more tightly before continuing. "Well, Matthew and I had suspected that something had sparked between Lord Hector and the glorious Dame Farina, but he insisted that they were both too stubborn to admit it. Then we contrived a plan in which I would…ah, _advance_ upon, if you will, lovely Farina, while ensuring that Lord Hector saw me do it. We were hoping that it would make his protective passions surge, that he would come to realize how dear he is already starting to hold her, and that she in turn would come to admire him because of his gallant fight for her."

Lyn simply stared at her knight for a long while. "You…you took a hit for that?"

"It was the best-case scenario!" chortled Sain. "I had thought that young Lord Hector would have had more self-control, but apparently I made him quite angry, indeed! Matthew and I were so hoping that he would resort to violence—"

"You _knew _that he was going to punch you, and you _let _him?!"

Sain looked up then to meet Lyn's bewildered, deep green gaze, and grinned as he put a hand to his newly-healed cheek. "My lady, surely you know that there are some things worth taking a blow for? I would do it all again, too, if it was needed…even if my beautiful face would be marred with bruises and blood, and the enchanting women that populate this land would turn from me in horror…although, admittedly, I'm wise enough in the ways of romance that I could never want for female attention…"

Lyn couldn't help but laugh. "Of course, you hopeless, well-meaning, _fool_ of a knight!"

"Ah, my lady!" Sain thumped his hand over his heart and swayed back as if struck with the tip of a lance. "Even after all this time, you wound me so easily!"

"It could have been worse," Lyn reminded him, "But for now, I suppose I shall have to let you off the hook…your plan _did _get Hector rather worked-up…"

Sain grinned roguishly until Lyn shot a glare his way, warning him, "However, there had better not be any mischief while we're at Eliwood's!"

Of course, a fortnight later, when Eliwood and Della had received them like a pair of schoolchildren with excited smiles and eager hugs, Sain had taken no time at all to grab the tactician and drag her off—doubtlessly to continue the meddling mischief that Lyn had forbidden him from. The princess sighed angrily.

Eliwood touched her shoulder to get her attention, and when she looked his way he raised an eyebrow. "Is something the matter, Lyndis?"

Lyn rolled her eyes. "Sit down—this'll be a long story, and I want you to hear the sensible side of it before Hector scribbles you his next letter."

xXx

Eliwood woke early of his own accord the next morning. His first thought had been to remember that Lyndis had finally arrived to stay, and he grinned as he put his hands behind his head. He had missed her, and was quite glad that she was able to visit…besides, the word she had brought him from Ostia was quite interesting, indeed. Eliwood had suspected that Hector might be attracted to Farina, but Lyn's stories only proved everything. He had even been able to find a bit of humor in Sain and Matthew's ridiculous plan, although he wasn't sure if he liked the idea of the knight working his best friend into a rage. He had secretly vowed last night to keep an eye on Sir Sain, especially considering that he and Della had a habit of wreaking absolute havoc when they were together. Speaking of whom…Eliwood yawned and turned to his tactician, who was still beside him and refusing to rise.

"Della," he whispered, "It's time to wake up."

She shifted slowly, rolling over and burying her face in his shirt with a moan of protest. "Noooo…no quiero…"

Eliwood patted her head absentmindedly, still bogged down by the warmth of sleepiness. He tried to focus on the scene around him—Della's unruly brown hair beneath his hand, the first pink glimpse of dawn glowing against the windowpanes, the dark shadows of the corridor outside his room…wait, he could see the corridor?

"We forgot to shut the door…" Eliwood murmured hazily. There was something vaguely dangerous about that, but he wasn't quite awake enough to remember why…

"Eh." Della grudgingly opened her eyes. "I think that's my bad…"

Eliwood covered his mouth with a fist to hide another yawn; Della chuckled and traced his cheekbone with a finger once he lowered his hand. He kept his eyes half-lidded and smiled sleepily at her…until he suddenly spotted a figure in the hall.

Someone had walked by—the darkness in the hallway made it hard to see who it was, exactly--and had accidentally spotted them through the open doorway. They moved, a tense jolt of surprise, and Eliwood's eyes flew open in shock. The passerby covered their mouth with their hand and quickly flitted out of sight, and Eliwood felt horror rise within him faster than lightning could strike the ground.

"Oh, Elimine!" he hissed, quickly vaulting over Della and out of bed with a rush of terrified adrenaline. She rolled over in bewilderment so that she was facing him and raised her head up from the pillow.

"Eliwood?" she asked worriedly. "What's the matter?"

"We've been found out," Eliwood told her, his voice clipped and tense, as he flung open the doors to his wardrobe and snatched out a new royal-blue tunic. "A servant just saw you."

"Good for the servant?"

"No, this isn't good at all! This…" Eliwood had to cut himself off, unable to explain to the tactician exactly _why _the whole scenario was scandalous. He felt himself blush just thinking about it. "Della, people are going to talk."

"About what?" She sat up and raised an eyebrow at him. "Are they insanely jealous of our sleepover parties or something?"

"They'll have quite a different way of phrasing that than you do," Eliwood muttered, turning his burning face away.

Della rubbed her eyes sleepily and mumbled, "Come on, it's not like they'll think we're having some torrid love affair or—" She stopped dead, blue eyes huge with shock, and let out a high and strangled noise of terror as the epiphany hit her. "Uhg! That's _it_, isn't it! They're going to say that…that you and I were—"

"Yes!" Eliwood interrupted impatiently. _It took her until NOW to think about something like that?_

"Egad!" Della gasped. Suddenly she, too, had sprung from the bed and towards her clothes. "Eliwood, what do we do?"

"I don't know," he replied. He gripped the open double-doors of the wardrobe tightly, head bowed, eyes shut in thought. "I don't know."

"Well, no need to panic," the tactician assured in a falsely confident voice. "I mean…for all that servant knows, I could be a figment of their imagination. An extra pillow making a lump under your blanket."

"They saw your hand on my face."

"…Maybe…you could say that you were just touching your own face? To cover up the yawn?"

"_Your _hand," Eliwood repeated, finally looking at her. "Haven't we gone over this before? Your hands could not be mistaken for mine."

"They were too far away to tell!"

"The way they jumped suggested otherwise!"

"But how could they have even known it was _me_? It could be any girl, technically!"

"Not many girls around here have hair like yours—which, might I add, spreads out in clear view across the pillows!"

Della fell silent, and somberly gathered up her clothes in her arms. "…Oh, man...we're busted. I'm so sorry that I forgot to close the door…"

"Don't apologize," said Eliwood gently. His hands dropped from the wardrobe doors to curl into fists at his sides. He could feel every muscle in his body tensing as he realized what the coming day would bring.

_I just _knew_ this would happen! How could I have been so blind to this? So selfish as to forget the consequences? My reputation would be warped in an instant…and Della would be viewed as no more than a _slut!

"Eliwood?" the girl asked quietly upon noting his taut, inwardly fuming posture.

"I need to straighten all this out," Eliwood declared fiercely. He turned to her and could clearly read the confusion in her eyes. "Go into my study and get dressed…then come down and—no, wait twenty minutes first!—_then _come down. Don't talk to anyone in the hallways…and especially not me. Don't talk to me at all. Don't even look at me!"

"Disassociation," the tactician said. "Got it." She turned to leave the chamber but then paused and turned back to him.

"Eliwood?" she asked softly. "Wouldn't it be easier to just explain what we were _actually _doing?"

"I'm not sure if anyone else would understand," Eliwood replied sadly.

"What's so hard to understand about it?" Della protested. "It's totally possible for a guy and a girl to sleep in the same room and not—"

"Della." Eliwood cut her off. He crossed the room to her, intending to make her realize just how serious the situation was—even if it was a ridiculous sort of serious situation. It was simply preposterous for anyone to think that he would want to take advantage of her…why, he couldn't even imagine it, couldn't imagine even kissing her. To hold her in his arms, well, he could imagine that, for he had done so before…and to run his hands through her hair, that too…but to touch his lips to hers, to familiarize himself with the shape of her mouth, the warmth of her breath, the sound of her sigh…?

_Oh, Elimine, I CAN imagine it!_

"Della," he said again, firmly, trying to keep his voice even as he shooed her off into his study. "Not everybody thinks so innocently."

"Totally lame," the tactician growled in response as she stomped off and shut the door behind her.

He paused for a long moment after she was gone, trying unsuccessfully to beat back waves of shame before he turned again to his wardrobe. His hands were shaking so badly that it took him longer than usual to dress.

* * *

Snow was still falling in Ostia.

By this point, it was sticking to the ground, frosting everything over with a coat of powder. The snowflakes tumbling from the sky were already starting to make a pile on the top of Serra's head, but she paid them no notice as she sat on one of the cold stone benches in the garden and devoured Erk's newest letter for the umpteenth time.

Several days earlier, she had reached a point where she no longer knew what else to write or what else to do. No inspiration came to her, no words jumped from her pen for Erk to see. He was trying his hardest, she knew, but no matter how much she wrote and how well he followed her advice…Priscilla's heart remained to Heath alone. For the first time, Serra waited before writing her reply and sending Farina grumpily off to Caerleon again. She waited a whole day. She waited two days. She waited two weeks.

She felt like a terrible friend…but she needed more time to think. Erk, as astoundingly brilliant as he was, was also the most romantically-challenged fool she had ever met. She felt drained of advice, empty and useless. How could he possibly fail, with such perfect guidance? What was _wrong _with him? And…what was wrong with her? Why was it harder to smile nowadays, harder to run, harder to yell? (It wasn't impossible, of course—not even close—but still…)

_Serra! _

Ah, but then a new letter arrived the next day, from a regular messenger on a regular horse. It was delivered to her by a regular servant. Serra quickly ripped open the envelope and read the letter…which was written with a rather _irregular_ penmanship.

It was from Erk, all right…but it was so all-over-the-place that she couldn't really believe so at first. His writing was messy, as if his hand had been trembling as he wrote, and his words crawled in lopsided rows down the page. Sometimes he didn't even punctuate the ends of his sentences, and just ran on to the next sentence, desperately. Serra's eyes widened yet again, taking in the news as if for the first time as she reread his letter, ignoring the snowflakes that melted on the pages.

_Serra, they're talking about_

_It's marriage, Serra, they're talking about getting married, maybe late summer_

_Nothing definite but still, they talk! And I can't_

_I don't_

_I want_

A lot of things were crossed out. He hadn't even bothered to write her a final draft—he had just sent the first thing he had been able to scribble down.

Erk was desperate. It was apparent in every ink blot, every forgotten period, every sentence that had skipped a word. He wasn't even thinking clearly. He was getting torn apart.

Serra scowled and clenched her fist, unconsciously crumpling her dear friend's panicked note. _Priscilla, you nitwit, you're hurting my Erky for the sake of what you think is friendship! And I don't know what to do to stop it!_

All she knew was that she would do whatever it took to keep Erk whole and get him back to his normal, composed self. She would walk through an Elfire spell, if that could possibly help. She would jump from Castle Ostia's battlements. She would burn her new dress.

…Well, all right, not the latter option. Perhaps she'd consider something about attacking an enraged wyvern with nothing but a broken Heal staff. That would be _much _less painful.

For the first time in weeks, Serra stood to go write Erk a letter—

--and then, realizing that she still had no idea what to write, slumped back onto the bench with a weary sigh.

* * *

There she was.

Sain hid himself stealthily behind a decorative suit of armor, waiting for her to pass by in the sunlit corridor, his mind racing. _I can't believe it—if I hadn't seen it with my own eyes, I wouldn't have _ever_ believed it! Why didn't she tell me? And how did he…why did she…let him--? _

She was finally within reach. Partly because he wanted their ensuing conversation to be private and partly because he wanted to scare her, Sain reached out and grabbed her as she passed, pulling her back against his chest and clamping his hand over her mouth.

"What on _Elibe_ were you doing last night?" he demanded in a whisper.

"Hullo, Sain." Della didn't sound startled in the least—her voice, muffled by his fingers, might have even been bored. "You will let go of me by the time I count to three."

"_You _will tell me what—"

"Three!" the tactician exclaimed, and bit down hard against the flesh of his palm.

"Ouch!" Sain quickly released the girl, but continued to glare at her, wringing his hand. "I believe you owe me an explanation!"

"For _what_?"

"For what you were doing last night!" hissed Sain.

Della looked baffled. "Sleeping?"

"In Lord Eliwood's bed?" the green knight shot back incredulously.

The tactician's eyes widened. "Who told you about that?"

"Nobody _told _me," Sain retorted in disgust, "I saw it for myself! I was walking down the corridor, and the door happened to be open, and you and Lord Eliwood--!"

"Oh, it was _you_!" Della remarked, her whole face lighting up. "Man, that makes everything _so _much easier…"

"I want an explanation," pressed Sain.

"_I _want a better place to talk about this," Della countered, gesturing to the cavernous corridor…where any passerby could easily overhear their conversation. Sain heaved a sigh, grabbed her hand, and led her down a flight of stairs to the room he was provided with for his stay in Pherae.

"You know," she said hurriedly, "this really isn't any of your business—"

"I'm making it my business, dear," he retorted, shutting the wooden door behind them to ensure that no one could eavesdrop.

Della looked towards the closed door. "That's rather sketchy, don't you think?"

"Oh!" Sain couldn't hold back a laugh. "So _I _can't close a door, but your Lord Eliwood can keep you in his bed all night?"

"…Uh, yeah, pretty much," the tactician retorted with a shrug.

Sain felt a strangely wild sort of panic fill him—had Della really grown up so quickly? Had his childish companion finally plunged into the adult world of sin?!

The conclusion had been jumped to!

"He's seduced you!" Sain screeched, grabbing Della by the shoulders and staring desperately into her wide, surprised eyes. "_He…_seduced _you!_"

The tactician seemed to grow calm again at the accusation, and raised an eyebrow in a laconic fashion. "You are an extremely overdramatic character--"

"Are you sleeping with him?!" Sain demanded, interrupting her.

"Absolutely not!" Della exploded. "Not in the way _you_ mean, anyway! Why would you think such a stupid thing?"

"You were in his _bed! _All night long, I presume!"

"_I _presume that you are an _idiot--"_

"Oh, Elimine." Sain released the tactician with a moan of disbelief.

"It's not like that!" Della insisted furiously.

"Della, Lord Eliwood is a young man—and don't tell me that I don't know how a young man thinks!"

"You just have a dirty mind! He doesn't think a thing like _you_, Don Giovanni!"

"I'm not a Don," responded Sain, surprised.

"You're a _man-whore!_"

_"I'm _not the one sleeping with a little girl!"

"_Next _to a little girl," Della corrected fiercely. Then she bristled, thrust a finger into Sain's face, and growled, "And I am not a 'little girl'!"

"You are so!" Sain protested.

"Will you just stay out of my flippin' business? I don't have to explain this to you—it's not like you'd understand!"

"_I _don't understand?" Sain demanded hotly. "You don't even realize what this means, do you? Do you know what would have happened if anyone but me had seen you two?"

"…Well, I didn't until this morning," she mumbled back, suddenly cowed. "Can I…er, not hear this from you right now? Seriously. I already got it from Eliwood…and since then I've been beating myself up, for not realizing it…and having this sort of talk with _you_, of all people, would pretty much ruin my day."

"What do you mean, with _me_--?"

"Just stop!" Della held up a hand and shut her eyes tightly. "Per favore."

Sain sighed heavily and leaned back against the wall, folding his arms. "Alright, darling. I'll take your word about your innocence—although I doubt you'd even know if you were violated—"

"_Sain, I flippin' know how babies are made!_"

"Let me finish!" He held up his hands. "I believe you. But I still want to know…why would you be there? With him? You have to admit, it's quite an unusual situation."

Della, pouting, crossed the room to his bed and sat down on the edge of it. "Well," she began after a moment, "it's a symbiotic relationship."

"Symbi-what--?"

"That means it's good for everyone, okay?" the tactician snapped. "I'm like his…dream catcher. And he's like my security blanket, I guess." When he continued to stare at her pointedly, willing her to go on, she looked down at her lap and continued. "For weeks and weeks, he's been having terrible nightmares. He's obviously not able to deal with the aftermath of the war well…and, Sain, it's because he still blames himself. For _everything_. Nothing I say or do makes him see otherwise." The green knight noticed that her hands were twisting together. "But then…I had a silly idea. You know how it's harder to have bad dreams when there's somebody beside you—your parents, or a friend? I offered to stay with him, since his lack of sleep was turning him into an absolute spaz, and he agreed. Our intentions were innocent."

Sain arched an eyebrow. "Well, that was awfully selfless of you. Risking your reputation—whether you knew it or not—for the sake of his peace of mind."

Della didn't look at him when she whispered, "…I'm not selfless, Sain."

"Ah?" The knight felt himself smirk. "What did you get in this bargain, then?"

Della pressed her lips together before replying—too quickly, and still not meeting his eyes: "I get to sleep somewhere warm which is great because my room is always cold and winter totally sucks!"

Sain stared at her for a long while, fitting the pieces together in his mind, feeling his lips curl into a smile.

"You like falling asleep in his embrace," he accused softly.

Her head shot up. "I…that's…you're…a moron!"

"It's true!" he cried, and pointed at her triumphantly. "You _like_ that he never leaves your side! You like falling asleep with someone still with you—and waking to the glorious dawn in the same fashion!"

"I like helping one of my best friends." she retorted frostily, jumping to her feet. "The only reason I'm doing this at all is because he needs me."

_But you need him more_. Sain simply _knew_ that he was right, knew it down in his core, though he did dare speak the words. _You need to be needed. Did you think you could hide that from me—from anyone?_

"Wipe that smirk off your face," she ordered, "or I will do it for you." Her voice, though soft and high, was unmistakably lethal. Sain could only chuckle and shake his head…ahh, the Great and Renowned Master Tactician. Would anyone but he, the clever and dashing Sir Sain, ever realize that the brilliant mind who led them all to victory was actually pathetically naïve, defensive, and prone to self-denial? (And full of half-baked tactical ideas along the lines of "let's throw Marcus out there and see what happens!", but that was a different story altogether.) Sain sighed but felt himself smile. Yes, Della was incorrigible, and didn't know half as much as he did about many things, but she was his friend—and right now, she was floundering in love, a sea he knew she hadn't charted. He simply had to help her.

"What _would_ you do without me?" he asked jovially, throwing an arm around her shoulders as this sudden epiphany hit him. _Looks like it's up to me to keep these children from drowning!_

"Live a happier life," she muttered. "And have no one insinuate that I'm a skank."

"A…skank?"

"Whore."

"Good heavens, no!" Sain dropped to his knees before her, instinctually, and took her hand. "I don't think that, at all! I believe that you and Lord Eliwood are innocent—hopelessly, ignorantly, and impossibly so!"

"Get up, Sain," the girl ordered, but the corner of her mouth twitched as if she wanted to smile.

"I was just…confused," he confessed as he rose to his feet and released her hand—he had been thinking of kissing it, just to get back on her good side, but the glare she gave him made him reconsider. "What else was I to think, seeing you both like that?"

The tactician smiled thinly. "…Slumber party?"

"My dear," said Sain, after rolling his eyes, "I suppose I just don't like the idea of a man being interested in you. You're too young for that. I can't trust that any suitor wouldn't…frighten you. Hurt you."

Della's jaw dropped open, and she stared at him for a long moment. "…Holy crap. You sound like my dad."

Sain merely smiled back at her. "Do I, now?" _But_ _I bet that her_ real _father wouldn't find a way to set her up with Lord Eliwood, now, would he?_

"Yes, and you are to stop it _immediately_. I _refuse_ to have you as a padre, Sain of Caelin! So you are to put a stop to your crazy suspicions and crazy accusations and crazy ideas of me and Eliwood—once and for all!"

"I still don't like this situation," Sain replied seriously, though he couldn't help but grin as he realized that he was about to get a step ahead of the tactician herself. "However…if staying with him makes you happy…I'll keep this quiet."

"Really?" she asked, glaring.

Sain rolled his eyes again. "My darling rose, you pierce my heart with your thorns of skepticism. Now get out of here and explain to Lord Eliwood that your virtues aren't in question—and hurry up, before he dies of shame!"

Della was gone before he could say it again. He smirked as the door closed behind her. _Oh, yes. Something needs to be done. She's lucky that no one knows the sweet intricacies of romance as well as I..._

xXx

Of course, when Sain snuck by Lord Eliwood's room later that evening to do a bit of…investigating (he preferred to think of it as—what was the word?—ah, yes, _espionage_, it was espionage rather than eavesdropping), he heard something that set back his plans quite a bit: Della's voice, fast and incredulous.

"What do you mean, 'absolutely not'?"

"I mean _never again_."

"Eliwood, you're going to keep having--"

"I don't _care_ how many nightmares I have."

"It was only Sai—"

"I don't _care _that it was only Sir Sain!"

"But--"

"And my decision is final! Goodnight!"

Sain managed to dive behind a nearby tapestry just as Della stormed out of Eliwood's room. The green knight scowled and blew a sigh through his lips once he was sure that she was gone. _Oh, blast. I forgot that they're both quite apt at making everything more difficult._

* * *

"Why do you make _everything_ more difficult?" Hector demanded.

Matthew edged away, to the door of Hector's chamber, eager to get away from his scolding. "Now, now, young master, you still don't quite understand _why_ Sir Sain and I acted so very oddly…"

"That's right," Hector growled, "but you're going to tell me _right now_."

Matthew glanced behind Hector to see Serra standing by the balcony, making motions beneath her chin as if she were slashing her own neck, so he quickly looked back to Hector and grinned disarmingly. "Well, I would, Lord Hector, but as it turns out, I have a very pressing engagement in, er, Bern. Yes. Quite a lot of instability going on there at the moment, I'd assume that you want Ostia to know about it!"

While Hector took a split second to ponder the truth of Matthew's words, the spy in question promptly fled from the room. Hector followed him out into the corridor, hollering his name, a tormented bull drawn to the taunting red of Matthew's cape, but the sandy-haired man was nowhere to be seen. With a groan of frustration, Hector turned to Serra.

"And I don't suppose _you_ know why everyone is going berserk, do you?" he asked her.

The cleric tucked her hands behind her back and raised her shoulders sweetly. "I haven't the faintest idea, Lord Hector."

He sighed and passed a hand through his blue hair. "Fine. I don't even care, anymore. Why are you here, again?"

"I had a letter for Farina." Serra removed her hands from her back and waved a piece of parchment at him. She hadn't been able to come up with any good advice for Erk, but had repeated a lot of old advice just for the sake of having something to send him. She hoped that it would refresh his memory, at the very least—and prayed that Erk would have another of his "bookish" moments and be able to draw some more information out of her words by reading them a second time.

Hector scowled deeply. "If you're looking for Farina, why are you in _my_ room?"

"Oh _please_, Lord Hector, everybody knows that she sleeps in here half the time," Serra retorted, rolling her eyes.

"What?!" roared Hector. "What do you mean, 'everyone knows'?!" An odd sort of terror filled him as the prospect of anyone thinking that he even _liked_ Farina invaded his mind.

"Everyone meaning me, duh. I'm the only one that matters." Serra waved her paper at him again. "Now, really, is she here? Or should I be on my way?"

"On your _way_," Hector grumbled, pointing at the door. She stuck up her nose and flounced past him. Hector went about his business for the rest of the evening, but just as he was getting ready for bed, Farina herself stuck her head into the room, looking slightly wan.

"Oh, blast," she sighed, "You beat me, tonight."

"That's right, wench," said Hector, firmly seating himself on the edge of his bed in an act of victory.

Farina shrugged, as if she were able to read his mind and know that being indifferent would only irritate him. "Well, I'll see if I can snag that one room over by the east tower…it has a very nice window seat."

Hector let his eyes flicker over to his own "window seat"—an extravagant marble balcony—and smirked. She scowled in reply.

"Fine, be as much of an oaf as you'd like. I think I left my nightgown here accidentally, though, from last night, when _I_ beat _you_…can I come in and get it? Or is your secret harem somewhere in there and you would rather I leave so that you can hide them?"

Hector couldn't resist letting his smirk grow into a full grin as he rolled his eyes. "Oh, no, you can come in and get your things…you'd just better be careful that no one mistakes you for one of the harem."

"Ah, so you admit it," she muttered as she crossed the threshold and made for his changing room. "It's typical that you'd be so unabashed…"

Hector chose not to say anything as she moseyed into an adjacent chamber—as if she owned the place!—and came right back out with a white garment slung over one arm.

"Right," she told him, "That's all I needed. I'll see you…later on, I suppose. I have to leave early tomorrow to deliver Serra's letter."

Hector shrugged, his way of letting her know that he honestly didn't care when he saw her next…but then, when she was almost out the door, he heard her sniffle. He shot up to his feet in an instant.

"What was that?" he demanded, pointing at her.

She gave him a strange look from over her shoulder. "A runny nose. I've been out in the snow for hours and hours—it's to be expected, wouldn't you think?"

"_Expected_?" He crossed the distance between them in two strides and grabbed her shoulders, forcing her to turn around and look at him. She merely looked exasperated.

"Ah, yes, I'd forgotten—you don't think _at all_."

"You're not feeling well, and you're going to go _back_ into the snow first thing tomorrow?" Hector asked her incredulously.

Her eyes narrowed. "Lord Hector, I feel _fine_! This is just what happens, sometimes, after being out in the cold all day! Honestly—have you never been to Ilia?"

He avoided that question, letting go of her shoulders and falling silent instead.

"Stay here," he said bluntly, after a long moment. "Please. Stay."

"…Why?" she asked, her brow furrowed.

"You've said that my room is the warmest in the castle, right?"

"That's really not necessary—"

"And if you stay, you'll have an eye on you--okay?"

Her back stiffened. "I don't need anyone looking out for me. And I'm _not ill_. My nose is just running. I'll be fine tomorrow."

"Humor me," said Hector softly.

Farina quirked an eyebrow. "You're really too dense to understand anything about humor."

He ignored that, and tried a new tactic: "You get to sleep in the bed."

A strange look crossed the Pegasus rider's face. Her eyes flicked to the blue coverlet, and then back to him suspiciously. "I will _not_ share a bed with you."

"That's not what I meant!" Hector insisted, raising his hands. "I was going to switch to the couch, and let you have the bed. Rather than the other way around."

"So…our sleeping arrangements would be the same as if I had won, tonight?" she asked coyly.

Hector groaned, knowing what was coming. "Okay, yeah, but it's—"

"So…_technically_, I _did_ win?" she continued, now twirling a lock of blue hair around her finger.

"Congratulations," Hector muttered darkly, and not without sarcasm.

"Well, in that case…" conceded Farina with a grin. "I _suppose_ I'll stay. Since you asked so nicely and all."

She turned and walked away from him, towards the chamber she had originally left her nightgown in, and Hector was oddly confused. He had been so happy about finally getting to sleep in his own bed…and yet, he had insisted upon giving it to her?

However, the more he thought about how a mere runny nose could send him into a panic, the more he realized that it wasn't such a ridiculous notion. He had seen her ill before—wretched, weak, and weeping with fear. He couldn't even imagine how frightened he himself would have been in her position, and—perhaps because of that—her tears had touched him deeply. The effect would have been the same if it had been Eliwood crying, or Lyn, or Florina…but it hadn't been any of them. It had been Farina.

Hector wasn't keen on ever repeating the experience with her.

"I'm going to change," she announced sternly, wrenching him back to reality. She stood by the dark wooden door, one hand on the golden doorknob, the pale bundle of her nightgown gathered in her free arm. "Don't you dare come in!"

Hector snorted. "As if I'd want to! Why would I spy on a scrawny little thing like you?"

Farina responded by slamming the door.

He was still for several long seconds, just staring at the door. It took him several more long seconds to admit to himself that even if she _was_ scrawny and loud and extremely irritating…he was still rather curious. Of course, he immediately pushed the terrifying thought away and went to go hide his face in the pillows of his couch. He had been intending to feign sleep when she finally emerged, but didn't have to—he fell asleep the instant he closed his eyes.

When Farina exited the room and saw him sprawled out across his couch, she couldn't help but make a face.

"Oh, you boor, stop pretending that you're asleep!"

He didn't stir.

Now sufficiently irritated, Farina marched over to him to find that…he was indeed sleeping—or, at least, very good at faking sleep. His face, usually drawn with temper or red from shouting, was now peaceful and smooth. His broad chest rose and fell with steady, even breaths. He even had a trace of his usual smirk about his lips, which made her wonder what he was dreaming about.

She sighed, fought back another sniffle, and looked towards his bed—which was practically hers, by this point.

"Thank you," she whispered, and dared to touch his hair before she left his side and entered her own realm of dreams.

When Hector awoke the next morning, she was already gone.

* * *

Eliwood woke with a start from the first nightmare he had had in weeks. After a moment, he realized that he was sitting bolt upright and shaking violently. Something was missing.

He reached out to his side immediately, but his trembling hand found nothing but his blanket. He brought the hand up and raked it through his hair, trying to remind himself of why he was doing this…_reputations, right, it's for this best_…but his insides still quivered, and he covered his face with a low moan.

_Why her? Why must it be her? _He didn't _want_ to have to rely on Della constantly…and he didn't like the way she slipped into his head so easily, the way he thought of her too often. Sometimes Ninian's face went fuzzy in his mind, and he panicked that he was losing even her memory…and Della wasn't helping! Just that morning, he had been standing too close to her, wondering what it would be like to kiss her…it was _wrong_.

And still, he missed his tactician, wished she was there with him. He tried to chalk it all up to the dream—part of it had included her, after all. She had been running away from him, and when he grabbed her arm to stop her, she abruptly exploded into a million fragments, which turned into birds that flew away and left him alone. That part of the dream hadn't been bloody or violent or twisted, but it had frightened him all the same. He had never before dreamed of his _tactician_ disappearing.

Typically, the night that he had, she hadn't been there to prove to him that she was still whole and alright.

He still hadn't shaken the dream when he went down to breakfast. Della met him there, looking as ready to collapse as she always did in the mornings, but he saw her gain her bearings slightly as she slid into the chair beside him.

"Another nightmare?" she asked quietly, more of an observation than a question.

"I would rather not talk about it," he whispered in reply. _This is for the best. I can't risk her reputation…and I can't keep having her with me. I…don't want Ninian to fade any more than she already has._ Still…she was still one of his dearest friends, and he didn't want her to ruin her morning by worrying for him. He smiled at her and found her hand under the table, gripping it tightly—as much as to reassure himself that she was still real and wouldn't burst into a flock of birds as it was to reassure her that he was alright.

"That's rather ironic," she murmured to herself. He was about to ask her what she meant, but then a waffle was set before her, and she pulled her hand out of his grasp and tore into it like she hadn't eaten in weeks.

* * *

The day was a cool one in Sacae, and the breeze nipped Kent's ears as he sat down in the dry grass with another nest of string in his lap. At least this one wasn't hopelessly tangled…Kent had made a lot of progress over the last couple of weeks. He knew how to tie every sort of knot, what all of those different shapes meant, and how to weave them side-by-side or through each other to create dozens of patterns. Rath had told him last night that he was to learn something completely new today, so when the nomad finally settled down beside him, cross-legged like all Sacaens seemed to sit, Kent felt his heart leap a little bit.

He waited a moment for Rath to say something, but the nomad seemed as apathetic and silent as always. The wind stirred Kent's hair as he bit his lip, wondering if he should speak, studying the nomad as he had for these many days away from Lyndis.

_Lyndis_…it felt odd, awkward, to know that Rath had cared for her, too. Although Kent was ashamed to admit it, there was a dark and instinctual part of him that automatically bared its teeth at Rath for just that reason—because the Sacaen had admitted to caring. Because he presumed to think that he felt even a _fraction_ of what Kent felt for her. The red knight wanted to dislike the man…he was cold and aloof, he already clearly disliked Kent because of his relationship with Lyn, and his hatred of that fact had technically given Kent a concussion, earlier. However, despite what his jealousy dictated, the knight could not hate Rath. There was something else to him; something gentle, patient, and wounded. He was kind to Guy, and respectful to Lori. He made certain that Kent was never hungry. And when Kent had gone through his saddlebags and emerged with beads and spices and golden coins, payment for Rath's teachings, the nomad had refused to accept them. It was not due to pride, or contempt for the gifts…Rath simply didn't seek a reward.

_He is not a bad man, _Kent knew, as he stared at the Sacaen's sharp and scowling profile._ He is harsh, but not bad._

Finally, he ventured to ask, "What shall my lesson be for today?"

"Today you learn the patterns," Rath retorted after a moment. Kent's heart sank a bit, remembering hours and hours of weaving triangles and spirals and zigzagging lines.

"But I…I…thought that you already taught me the patterns?"

"Those?" the Sacaen snorted derisively. "Those are just designs. _These_ patterns are what separate marriage bracelets from anything else. They have special meanings."

"Like…what?" Kent asked, now feeling quite ignorant—for the hundredth time since he had come to Sacae. He had mostly stayed in Rath's ger or in the grass behind it, trying to keep hidden from other Sacaens, and kept himself isolated from their tribal dinners and activities. He didn't want to intrude, and was embarrassed to hear from Guy and Lori that his stay had been the talk of the tribe. He had met several other Sacaens in passing, and the experiences were rarely pleasant—some lifted their chins and glanced at him icily when they spoke, some delivered bitter comments about his people and his ancestors, and most just tried to ignore him completely. Kent had expected as much, and obligingly tried to stay out of everybody's way.

Rath, however, had lived in Lycia, and had seen the good as well as the bad. He knew that Lycians wed each other with metal rings and had little understanding of woven bracelets, so he never treated Kent like he was a simpleton. He began to elaborate on the meaning of the patterns for Kent, and after many questions on the red knight's part (talking to Rath was usually like pulling teeth), he was finally able to gain a basic understanding.

In Sacaen culture, apparently, there were certain elements that made up the world and reflected the life within it. Much like the Lycian custom of affinities, Sacaens assigned each other elements that represented them—except there were _hundreds_ of elements.

"You will need to discover Lyn's element," Rath instructed, "as well as your own. Your bracelet has to use these patterns and intertwine them."

"Lyndis's element…" Kent murmured, thinking hard. There were many to choose from—things like water and fire, animals like horses and eagles, plants like maize and wildflowers. He closed his eyes to remember her, the fluid motion of her wrist as her hand went for the hilt of her sword; the way she ran, effortlessly, as if her feet hardly touched the ground; the way she stood that night in the door of the stables and watched him ride away, still waving, her white nightgown billowing out behind her and her hair being combed through by the fingers of the--

"Wind," said Kent suddenly, his eyes snapping open. "She's wind. She must be."

Rath actually smiled, if very slightly. "Yes…I agree."

The nomad's eyes had glazed over, as if with a fond memory, and Kent felt his heart ache ever-so-slightly. He opened his mouth to—what, say something profound? Change the subject? He wasn't sure—but a voice interrupted him before his own could sound:

"Hey, how's it going?"

Without a pretense, Guy darted out from around Rath's ger and plopped himself into the grass before them. "Oh, he gets to learn the _real_ patterns now, Rath? That's great! It's way more fun than the regular stuff, Sir Kent! Have you figured out your element, yet? What about Lady Lyn's? I bet—"

"Wind," said Rath, and the single word cut Guy off mid-sentence. The swordsman looked confused.

"We have decided that Lady Lyndis is wind," Kent explained.

"Ooh." Guy leaned forward. "Lucky you, Sir Kent—not many people can hold on to a person who lives by the law of wind. They're pretty special, but…hard to feel a connection with, sometimes. Supposedly."

_That's true…isn't it_? Kent thought to himself. _She often did feel very far away from me when she stared to the horizon, or when she galloped off to her hill in Caelin…she wouldn't stay in the castle, she wouldn't stay still at_ all. _She went places that I could not follow, and sometimes I felt that she did not want me there._

Yet…even remembering these things, Kent couldn't feel that he didn't have a hold on Lyn, some sort of claim. Her hand was the just the right size to hold in his own, her body fit perfectly in his embrace, and her lips moved easily with his. Even beyond that…he was the one that she came to when she was frightened or angry or sad, he was the one who could make her laugh up by simply giving her a smile, he was the one that she had looked up to with that mischievous sparkle in her eyes when she had decided that she was going back to Sacae—and that he was going with her.

"So what's your element, Sir Kent?" Guy asked suddenly interrupting his reverie.

Kent was startled, and floundered for his answer. "I…er…well, I don't know."

"Oh, come on, it's not that hard," said the younger man with a smile. "Take Rath, here…" Guy swept a hand in Rath's direction—the other Sacaen was glowering. "Rath is obviously stone. He's quiet, hard-headed, tough--"

"_Dependable_," a female voice corrected, as Lori appeared from behind another ger and made her way towards them. "Strong. Able to withstand much…and _still_ make a fine chief." She smiled down at the three of them. Rath would not look up from his lap.

"And I'm fire!" said Guy proudly, thrusting a thumb towards his own chest. "Wild, powerful--"

"And ambitious," interrupted Rath wryly.

"And hot-headed," tacked on Lori, "And you won't ever stay still." Guy's face fell while she paused, thinking, and added, "But you provide warmth and light to all that you meet."

"And danger and death!" said Guy defensively. "I provide that, too!"

Lori only smiled and shook her head. Rath was staring piercingly at Kent, doubtlessly already trying to find his element. Guy folded his arms in irritation, but was smiling again when he looked at Kent, himself.

"So…what defines you, eh?" he asked. "What makes you special?"

"Er…nothing," Kent admitted. "I have no outstanding talents…and I'm not particularly good at anything…"

"…You're dirt," said Rath finally.

Kent blinked twice, surprised. With a tinge of anger, he turned to Rath, insisting, "Really, that wasn't necessary--"

Guy began to laugh. "No, Sir Kent, he means that dirt is your _element_! You're earth!"

Kent was aghast, and fought to keep his face from contorting in disgust. "…Really?"

_I...that? Me? I didn't think…but I suppose they're right. I came from poor farmers, I own no land, I have no title, and I'm going to elope with my own liege lady. A knight can't get dirtier than that._

"I agree with you, Rath," said Guy happily. Kent looked to Lori in desperation, hoping for some elaboration, and she did not let him down.

"You must be a fine man indeed," she told him, "if these two can agree on such a noble element."

_Earth? Mud? _Noble?

Kent was incredulous. Lori took his hands and closed her eyes, like a seer about to tell the future. "Those who reflect your element may sometimes seem plain on the outside. You are calm and stoic, but you are not so stubborn that you can't be moved."

A feeling of awe slowly crept over Kent as he watched Lori relay the legends and beliefs of this entirely new culture. Her next words surprised him greatly:

"You are a _foundation_. People look to you for support, and need you to grow. They depend on you…and rightly so, because you are always there."

"That's true!" chirped Guy with a wide smile. "That was your reputation back in the army, anyway…Sir Kent, who was Always There. You always had a weapon ready, or a vulnerary to share, or space in your saddle for a wounded man who needed a way back to the healers…"

"…I had no idea," whispered Kent.

"It's decided, then!" Guy declared. "Let's see, who else is there…oh, mother is water…and Mae is a sunflower, and Kale is a wild horse, and Chief Dayan is a wolf, and--"

"Time to learn," said Rath sternly, and Guy snapped his mouth shut as Kent eagerly watched Rath draw the symbols of the wind in the dirt.

* * *

The moon was full and high in the sky, casting its light through the vast windows of the library and illuminating every surface with a sheen of white. Eliwood hadn't bothered to light a candle, since the moonlight was just bright enough to allow him to read. He wasn't sure exactly how late it was, but he was not tired in the least. He didn't really trust himself to sleep, truth be told, and had come to the library to try to read of pleasant things.

_I think, for once, Della has fallen asleep before me, _he thought to himself as he paced the length of a bookshelf filled with textbooks about the Scouring, his fingertips skimming leather covers as he sought out his whim. He found it odd that he wasn't spending this time in the darkness trading questions with her…but really, there was nothing left to say. He had already poured his heart out to her—quite ineloquently—and she had already made him vow that their confessions would be repeated to no one.

_"Della, I'm not about to go telling people that I wept like a child and--"_

_"That's all you're worried about? Crying?! Heck, I wish I had cried, rather than admitting that there was even the slightest ounce of angst in my past—which hasn't really been all that angsty! DO YOU KNOW WHAT I'VE BECOME WITH MY PAST FULL O' ANGST, ELIWOOD?!" _

_"Er…no?"_

_"Well, you will as soon as I get some magical weapon and purple hair and Hector and Matthew and Raven all fall in love with me." _

_"…I…thought that you weren't fond of Raven--?" _

_"Oh, no, I hate his guts. But the point of the story is that nobody else should hear of our conversations." _

_"…I agree."_

Eliwood had to say, thinking back on their painful conversation, trying to explain the depth of long-lost loves…it was quite embarrassing. Surely they were both just deliriously tired, and had been babbling to each other…Eliwood knew that Della had survived the scorn of her swordsman—or whoever he was—enough to prove that she could continue on, just as he had survived the loss of Ninian.

…Of course, that didn't explain why he was down here in the library, dwelling on the past.

Eliwood finally found the book that he was looking for, and slowly slid it from the shelf. He wandered to a table and lowered himself into a hard wooden chair, skimming through the yellowed pages classifying different types of dragons, as documented during the Scouring. He finally stopped on page sixty-seven and hesitated before exhaling. _Ice dragons. _

The artwork in the book was second-rate at best, redrawn by ancient monks looking at copies of copies of copies of what must have been the original illustration. The pale blue ice dragon poised on the page seemed to be in the act of disappearing, as the original shimmer of the paint had faded in patches and lines of ink had blurred. Still, for all its flaws, it was clearly an ice dragon—huge, regal, beautiful, serpentine, bestial, monstrous…

Eliwood had met one once, and he had despised it. His problem now was ceasing to despise himself, because of that horrible sin. He traced the dragon's outline with a fingertip, feeling traces of sorrow trickle back into his bloodstream.

"Eliwood?" a voice asked softly. It echoed eerily up to the high, vaulted ceiling.

Eliwood's spine stiffened as he turned towards the door, hastily slamming his book shut. "D-Della! What are you doing awake at this hour?"

The tactician stood in the doorway like a ghost in her pale nightgown, her hair pulled into a braid, her face looking rather surprised at his shocked tone. "Umm, I'm always awake at this hour? Remember?"

"Oh…right." Eliwood softened his voice. "I'm sorry."

"Whatevs." the tactician crossed the distance between them, hugging her arms against the draft in the room.

"Why are you here?" he whispered as he sank back down to his chair. Even the quiet tone of his voice seemed too loud for the stale, austere air.

"I'm not tired," she retorted. "Reading helps me get to sleep sometimes, though, so I came here…"

"I had a similar idea," Eliwood confessed, watching her warily as she sat on the edge of the table and leaned over to study the book in his hands.

"Hey, neato—you're reading a history textbook? I love those!"

Della reached out for the book, and Eliwood fought the instinct to yelp and grab her wrist and keep her from opening it, finding the page he was on, studying his shame. He gulped down the impulse, however, feeling his whole body tense as he let her take the heavy book from his hands.

She stopped as soon as she had opened it, the colored leaf illustration on the title page glimmering at him accusatorily in the moonlight. She fixed him with a look just as pointed.

"Is there any particular reason that you're trying not to freak out, Eliwood?"

"No," he replied, knowing that his words were the truth, but _feeling _as though he had missed something. As if he was lying. _Why should I hide this from her? A picture of an ice dragon? It's not as if she'd know I was on that page, as if she'd guess that even after all this time and all our conversations, I can't let Ninian go--_

Della flicked to page sixty-seven and stopped there, her head tilted arrogantly, her finger poised on the picture of the ice dragon, a wry smirk on her lips.

Eliwood jumped up from his chair. "How did you--?!"

"You think I haven't read this one before?" Della sounded bored. "Dude—if I find something about ancient history, I _am _going to read it. This one is actually one of my favorites. And this picture…" She tapped it with a fingertip and grinned up at him. "The dragon looks rather adorable, doesn't it? Like a child? Not like Ninian looked…in fact, I bet it's more similar to Nils."

Her voice lilted, full of affection, as she spoke the dragon-boy's name. Eliwood was almost mortified. He knew now that her true motive wasn't finding a book.

"Della…_what _are you doing here?"

The tactician snapped the book shut and fixed him with a stare. "You just won't let me do my job, will you?"

"Your job?" Eliwood demanded. "What does that have to do with anything?"

"I'm trying to help you!" she retorted. "That's what tacticians are for! But 'stopping mindless masochism' was _not _in my job description!"

"Mindless _what?_"

"You just keep on lingering," Della insisted firmly, opening the book to the accursed page again. "You could have gone to bed. You could have read a happy book. But you came here, in the dead of night, to look at _this_!" She shoved the illustration in his face, her legs swinging agitatedly from the edge of the table. "Why, Eliwood? You pull her back into your mind—you bring this pain upon yourself! How can this possibly be helping you?"

Eliwood turned away. "Well, I can't pretend it never happened—that she never existed! That I never loved her!"

"Look, I hate to be blunt, but she's gone and you need to _get over it_!"

Eliwood shook his head slowly, breathing, "I can't. I made a promise."

_The last words she ever said to me…she asked me not to forget her…_

"But would she approve of this?" Della asked him quietly. Eliwood turned back to her and found that her face was uncharacteristically grace. "Would she like to see you this way—always glum, because you don't feel you deserve happiness? Never sleeping, because you're afraid to dream?"

Eliwood closed his eyes. "Della…"

"Stop being so noble!" she growled, folding her arms like an irate child.

Eliwood's eyes snapped back open. "What does nobility have to do with any of this?"

"You're torturing yourself for the sake of a promise!" Della accused angrily. "And now you've taken it a step farther—you won't let me stay with you anymore, and the nightmares are coming back!"

"Look," Eliwood countered hotly, "If it's a choice between my nightmares and your reputation, I would be nothing short of a swine if I chose—"

"That's not what irks me! It's that you keep insisting on making these sacrifices, even though you're the one that's scared!"

"That's preposter—"

"_You're _scared! Because everyone you've loved and relied on in your life is gone! Your father isn't here to teach you, Ninian isn't here to need you, Athos isn't here to support you—and Hector is busy in Ostia and Lyn is going back to Sacae and unless you die an early death, you're going to have to deal with the deaths of your mother, and Marcus. Don't lie—you fear that I will leave you too, and that's why you 'risked my reputation' in the first place! You wanted to know that I was there, that _anybody_ was there with you!"

"My dreams have nothing to do with any of that!"

"So what _are_ they about?" she challenged.

Eliwood turned away, murmuring, "Birds."

"Eliwood," she said gently, "It's okay to be afraid of being alone. That's a normal fear, you know—we're born with it. Like a fear of heights, or a fear of drowning. It's… a survival instinct."

"Instinct," he countered, "is what makes me pull her memory back."

She raised her eyebrows. "But you're also human, and therefore have the capacity to overrun your own urges. The capacity to move on."

"Only when you are with me, it would seem," he said bitterly.

"Oh…so you're keeping me away from you because--?"

"I am only _doing_ this for you!" Eliwood hissed, closing the distance between them and planting his hands hard on the table, on either side of her.

"Yeah, well _I don't want this!_" Della seethed back. "Do you honestly think that I could live with myself, knowing you're still dreaming and knowing that I can help, but not doing anything about it? I don't want you crying out in your sleep anymore, seeing your father dying in your arms and smelling the blood of the men you have killed and _feeling_ Durandal plunging into Ninian--!"

"Stop!" Eliwood cried suddenly, sharply. He couldn't hold her gaze—he had to drop his to the floor. "Please…stop…"

"…I'm a jerk-face," she whispered, after a long and surprisingly awkward moment of silence had passed. "I'm sorry…I shouldn't have ranted like that. That was…cruel."

"The truth is always cruel," murmured Eliwood.

She smiled wryly. "But you're still going to push me away?"

"You're forcing her out of my head," Eliwood answered softly.

"That's the point, isn't it?"

"I…no. No." Eliwood shook his head firmly. "I can't forget her—I vowed that much."

"But then…you'll never let go of her."

"I just need to find a balance," Eliwood insisted. "A way to remember forever…and a way to…"

"Move on?"

"But I don't know if that's the right thing to do!" the marquess finally burst out in a rush of emotion. "I can't heal without forgetting her, but I will have betrayed my own heart if I do so! What do I _do_, Della?"

She looked strangely bewildered at the question, her eyes widening slightly, her mouth opening to release words that never formed.

"Tell me!" he pressed desperately, leaning closer. His eyes fixated on her lips as he waited for the answer, her small and parted lips, and the curiosity of what it would be like to kiss her came crashing down upon him again. He could do it now, easily—it was all too easy to envision her accepting the kiss, clinging to him, whispering his name. He shivered, only an inch from her mouth, and wondered if it would bring him any relief if he closed the distance. He toyed with the idea; brought up a hand and fingered the line of her jaw.

Her next breath was not an exhalation but a shudder, and her whisper was desperate: "Forget?"

_Oh, Elimine._

Eliwood wrenched himself back to his senses with a sharp breath and quickly pushed himself away from the table, away from Della. "I _won't_!"

"It all comes back to this fundamental problem," she mumbled. Eliwood realized after a moment that she was trembling violently, but her words had spiked a surge of anger through his blood, so he didn't comment upon it.

"Della, she was everything to me! If I ever lose her, I shall lose myself!"

"But she _is_ gone!" the tactician protested. She reached out and her fingertips skimmed the edge of his sleeve. "And you're still here!"

"So are you," Eliwood retorted darkly. _In my library, in my castle, in my bed, in my thoughts—_

"Yeah," she returned, jumping to her feet, "I'm here with _you_, when I could have gone anywhere! Right now I could be studying with Lord Pent, helping children with Lucius, traveling with Canas--!"

"Well, you don't _have _to stay here with me!" Eliwood snapped. He was sick of her know-it-all attitude, sick of her cryptic ideas, sick of her intruding upon Ninian's memory! "I don't need you!"

Della leaned back weakly against the edge of the desk. She was staring at him as if calculating a clever comeback, and though Eliwood waited for it, it never came. He felt his insides twist—he hated to argue, and had never done so with his tactician before…but her words had prodded him enough. Rather than risk a shouting match, something he had seen her and Sain get into, he turned on his heel and walked away from her, out of the library. She never once said a word.

The corridor felt just as dark and stuffy as the library. Eliwood strode through it quickly, headed for his rooms.A sudden cry of rage and a loud _thwack! _echoed from behind him, reverberating through the hallway and through his body, and he knew without looking back that Della had hurled his book on the Scouring at the wall.

* * *

_I'm afraid that I must apologize for the haste of my last letter…I fear that I have made many mistakes, and am cringing in my seat at the mere thought…no one should be subject to such careless grammar, Serra, and I beg your pardon. _

Not that she would notice, Erk thought wryly, since she made so many mistakes in her own letters. Still, he supposed it would behoove him to acknowledge his errors in his newest letter—he hoped that he hadn't worried her. It was true that he had been frantic upon hearing Heath's proposal to Priscilla, but some time had passed and he had been able to calm down. Getting worked up into an emotional tizzy never helped anybody; what he needed to do now was logically think things through. He was already falling behind in his studies, so distracted was he with thoughts of Priscilla, and he could realize that winning her heart would be his only cure. He was running out of time to do so—if he even had the capacity to do so at all.

Just as he was setting his quill back to the parchment, a timid knock sounded at the door.

"Yes?" he called, hardly lifting his attention from the task at hand. "Come in."

"Erk?" a high voice asked softly as the door creaked open, and the mage froze. He turned in his chair to find Priscilla hesitantly stepping into the room.

She was…glowing. Her face was flushed slightly, as if in a rush of sudden health, and her green eyes were dancing. "Erk, are you terribly busy?"

"Not at all," he breathed, mesmerized, and managed to push himself up from his chair. "What is it, Priscilla?"

"I…" She glanced back towards the open hallway, and then smiled widely and carefully shut his door behind her. They were alone in the room. Erk felt his heart leap into his throat. "Erk, I have to tell you something."

"Y-yes?"

Priscilla's smile broke into a full grin, displaying even rows of white teeth. "It's finally official…Heath and I are going to be wed!"

The news wasn't new to Erk, but he withered inside all the same.

"Ah," he forced out, "I…so I've heard…"

Priscilla frowned suddenly. "You've heard? From who?"

What was Erk supposed to say—that he had practically eavesdropped on the couple when he had passed by in the hallway? No, he couldn't tell her that…so he cleared his throat and told what wasn't technically a lie: "Heath had mentioned it."

"Did he?" she was smiling again, radiant as a sunrise, more brilliant than snow-reflected sun. "Oh, and I was so hoping that I could be the first to tell you! Nobody else knows, yet," she confided, lowering her voice to a whisper. "I haven't even told my parents. I wanted to tell you, first."

A thrill of pride rushed through Erk at that, and he found the courage to walk towards her and take her hands.

"I'm so happy for you, Priscilla," he told her.

Strangely enough, in that one moment, he _was_ completely happy for her—because she herself looked so happy. It made him want to do something ridiculous, like burst into song…or crack a smile. He chose the latter option.

Priscilla gripped his hands tightly and giggled as she looked up into his eyes. "Oh, Erk...when did you grow so much?"

The mage realized with a start that he was, in fact, taller than Priscilla—now that they were standing so closely, he could see that her eyes were only level with his nose. That felt slightly odd: they had always been around the same height, before.

"We're all growing up," he informed her. _You'll be a bride. I'll be a lonely old man._

"But you'll still be my dearest friend, no matter how old we get!" she replied happily. "I shall always be the first to tell you anything—and you would come to me first, wouldn't you?"

"Of course," he said softly.

"Thank you for being so good to me," she laughed in response, and threw her arms around his neck in a light embrace. Erk froze for a long moment, but was eventually able to wrap his arms around her in turn. He even pressed a kiss against her fiery hair.

"You're a good friend too, Priscilla," he whispered. _I am as close with you as I am with Serra, or with Lord Pent. And still…somehow,_ still, _you are so very far away._

When she had gone, Erk had a hard time sitting back down and forming coherent thoughts to make a sentence with. Eventually, all he could write to his pink-haired cleric friend was,

_Help me. I need you._

* * *

It had been weeks since Heath felt the need to scout, but when he woke that particular morning, the feeling washed over him more strongly than it ever had.

He avoided Priscilla most of the day—she was off somewhere with Erk, anyway, so the job was easy enough—and when his anticipation became too unbearable, he planned to slip out to the stables. He had thrown on a cloak and had one hand on the doorknob before his eyes landed upon his old steel lance, leaning in the corner behind the door. He hadn't touched the thing since the days of the war…and yet, on impulse, he decided to grab it on the way out. The metal quickly grew cold in his hand as he ventured outside—the air already smelled like snow, and Heath didn't doubt that it would begin to fall as the sun set. When he reached the stables he found that Hyperion was restless in his roost, and tossed his head about so much that Heath was hard-pressed to get his saddle on.

"I know," he murmured softly, "I know. You can smell them. I know they're here, too."

Heath wasn't sure whether to be terrified or relieved when he and Hyperion finally pushed off from the ground and could finally see what he had peeled his eyes for during the past few weeks—a lone wyvern rider headed towards Caerleon. Heath gripped his lance more tightly and moved out to meet them, unsure if they were intent on battling but determined to keep any conflict as far from the manor as possible.

_How are they here?_ he wondered desperately. _How did the authorities of Caerleon let them get so close? Didn't anyone try to stop them? _That's when he remembered that Lycia had practically no wyverns, and employed practically no Riders in their armies—what was the use, in such a temperate climate? Horses could do just as well in a place without the rocky mountains and thick snow of Bern. Whoever this warrior was, Heath was going to be the only one able to bring them down.

Soon, however, the Rider became more visible, and Heath almost dropped his lance. He _knew_ that crimson beast, knew the shape of its owner, knew the voice that shouted,

"Heath, you're sorely mistaken if you think that your flying technique is half of what it used to be!"

"It can't be," he whispered.

"Land, whelp! I have a bone to pick with you!"

Feeling as if the moment was oddly surreal, Heath waited until his opponent nosed her wyvern downwards before prompting Hyperion to do the same. When his steed landed heavily, as if it couldn't comprehend the situation either, Heath rolled out of the saddle and stared at the woman who stepped more gracefully out of her own.

"Commander?" he breathed, hardly daring to believe. He longed to run to her, to grip her arms, to touch the jagged scar upon her face…yet he restrained himself. Vaida was never one for shows of affection—for any weakness at all. He would believe she was there, he would believe in _her_, and that would be the end of that. "You're alive?"

The wyvern lord snorted derisively. "Of course I'm alive! Did you expect anything else?"

"But you went back to Bern," Heath protested hoarsely, "You sought Prince Zephiel, even though you were alone and a traitor and condemned to death--"

"And he realized that I had risked all to return to his side," Vaida interrupted, carelessly leaning back against Umbriel. Heath felt his muscles relax slightly—he knew that Vaida struck like a viper, and could get her spear to his throat in an instant, but he also knew that she wouldn't shift her weight to such a casual stance if she was planning to fight him anytime soon. While he continued to watch her, she added, "He restored all the lands and titles that his father had stripped from me during our desertion, for my loyalty."

"But he's so young," murmured Heath. "Where did he get such power? I thought that the nobles would have killed you, for sure."

Vaida flicked her eyebrows up and grinned. "Oh, they wanted to, all right, the weasels…but it wouldn't do to upset the only heir to the throne, now, would it? He just stood up tall, like a man twice his age, and demanded that I be kept alive."

"How did you even reach him? You would have had to get into the castle undetected and--"

Vaida waved a hand dismissively. "Please--I know all the ways into the castle, and my scar made it so that no one could recognize me in the dark…so I managed to knock out the two guards outside his door and break in. It was very late, but he was still awake. Do you know what he was doing, Heath?" She broke off then, her eyes filling with a gentleness that Heath had never seen before—it was almost _motherly_. He couldn't really believe that, either.

"What?" he asked faintly.

"He was _praying_. For his mother, his father, his sister…all of Bern. He just knelt by the window and prayed. I waited until he was finished, but then I made myself known, fell to my knees, and swore fealty for the second—and last!—time in my life. I don't think he was even scared, considering that a renegade knight had broken into his room. He just took my shoulders and lifted me up and told me that he would fix things."

"'Fix things'," Heath echoed disbelievingly. _What vague words._

Vaida smiled wryly. "He's only a child still, Heath. He believes that he can save the world." She paused a moment before locking her hawkish gaze on his and murmuring, "I believe it, too."

"Why are you here, Commander?" Heath whispered.

"Because I figured you'd be here." Vaida laughed mirthlessly and glanced toward the grand stone walls of Caerleon Manor. "With your silly nit of a troubadour."

"Commander," Heath growled at her words.

She laughed again, this time with sincerity, her eyes flaring open. "Oho, was that a hint of a _threat_, boy? You've fallen harder than I would have expected! So, what's the story—you're madly in love? You're going to be wed?" She was smirking now, bitterly. "Doesn't she realize what you are?"

"It doesn't matter to her," Heath insisted softly.

"You have no _right_ to fall in love, you know. You're daft if you think you're at liberty to settle down—to start a _family--_"

"I know!" Heath cried furiously. She merely quirked an eyebrow at his lack of control, and he lowered his head in shame as he continued in a quieter voice: "I'm sorry, Commander. I know. I'm a fool."

"And love is a fool's game," Vaida retorted lightly, turning her gaze to the sky.

"Just tell me what you've come here to tell me," he pleaded. "I'm strong enough to take it, Commander."

She looked at him sharply for a long moment. "Yes, I suppose you are—I taught you, after all."

He met her eyes and waited for her to speak again:

"Well, Heath, obviously I was not pardoned unconditionally. King Zephiel was allowed to keep me alive, but the other nobles convinced him that I must be sent on a mission to prove my loyalty. I must capture you and bring you back to Bern for your execution."

Heath, though unsurprised, suddenly felt his entire body go numb. "Well," he mumbled, slowly reaching back to Hyperion for his lance, "You've found me, then, Commander…"

His hand met the cold steel of his lance—and then something else, something warmer, as Vaida shot out a hand and covered his own.

"You honestly don't think that I would come to retrieve you by myself?" she asked with a smirk. "I am never so ill-prepared. A squadron of hand-chosen wyvern knights is resting only a day's flight from here."

His lips mimicked the sardonic posture of her own. "And I don't suppose that King Zephiel would pardon me as he's pardoned you?"

"He can't," whispered Vaida. "The _filth_ that calls itself 'nobility' sees him only as a useless boy-king. They insist that he is too young to realize what a danger traitors and renegades are to Bern."

"And if I survive," Heath added pointedly, "the mission to prove your loyalty would be for naught, Commander. They would find a way to kill us both, anyway."

"How very astute," she murmured. "I suppose it's lucky for me that you constantly followed your woman around like a stray mutt—I knew you would be here. With her."

"Please," he hissed with sudden panic, "Don't. Leave Priscilla out of this. _Please_."

"Yes," Vaida continued airily, turning away from Heath as if she hadn't even heard him, "I assumed that you would be right here…" She hoisted herself into Umbriel's saddle and glanced in his direction. "But if you run, I won't know where you would have gone to."

"Commander, why--?" Heath gasped, but she only held up a hand.

"You have two days to get a head start. I know you aren't a traitor, Heath—but I cannot disobey my orders. Not again."

_She's not letting me go…but she's giving me a chance._ Heath felt himself start to shake, and clenched his fists to hide the fact. "Vaida…you're risking your own life with this."

She shrugged recklessly. "My life is at risk no matter what. The noble worms aren't happy that I'm alive, though they are allowing King Zephiel to have me, for now. I don't look forward to what will happen when they change their minds, when he grows up to be as strong as I know he will, when they feel that they must challenge him…but I will face the future later. For now, all that matters is staying by King Zephiel's side."

Heath could only stare at her. She had always been an example for him—of what he should be, of what _anyone_ should be. She sat in the saddle like she could command not just her steed, but the entire world beneath it; the sun silhouetted her sharp features and highlighted her golden hair; she radiated dedication and strength and perseverance. She was hunting for his head and he _still_ couldn't help but admire her, especially as she squeezed her knees against Umbriel's sides and took off into the endless sky with a rush of chilly wind.

"You're beautiful, Commander Vaida!" Heath called after her, giving in to a sudden impulse—repeating his thoughts upon first meeting her, upon seeing her again in Eliwood's Elite, upon accepting the chance for escape that she had just given him.

He knew she was grinning, though she was too high up for him to see it. All he got in response to his fervent farewell was a cold,

"You had better fly fast, idiot boy!"

And then she was gone, a mere speck of red against the sky, blood on blue cloth. Heath allowed himself to crumple to his knees, barely aware of Hyperion's scaly snout pushing comfortingly into the crook of his neck.

* * *

_A/N: Sooo, I don't know the deal with Vaida, either, really. I've never played FE6, so I don't know if she's even mentioned at all in the game…but my personal theory has always been the boy-king one: that she went back to Zephiel, that the nobles allowed her to live at the boy's request, but that when Zephiel eventually got too powerful, the nobles freaked and had her (and anybody else threatening) killed. It just…makes sense, from a historical perspective. Goodness knows I've studied enough cases of that, in monarchies. So, if that turns out to be TOTALLY INCORRECT…well, I'm very sorry. _

_As for Della's random lapses into random languages… "no quiero" is Spanish for "I don't want [to]", and "per favore" is Italian for "please". Easy stuff, but I figured I should explain just in case...oh, and the Don Giovanni bit? Well, for those who don't know, that's an opera about this dude named Don Giovanni who…flirts a lot? And eventually gets pulled into Hell and whatnot. It's a comedy, of sorts. But when my teacher was trying to explain to us what it was about, he was floundering for the right adjective to describe the Don…until one kid just shouted "MAN-WHORE!" Much to the class's surprise, the teacher actually agreed and proceeded to use that description for the rest of the day. Crazy class xD._

_And…yeah. Thus ends another ridiculously long chapter. Now is a good time to break into the "Feedback Makes Me Happy" song-n-dance routine, right?_


	14. Chase

**Synopsis:** _THUS FAR! Wait…wrong fic. Guess I have to do this seriously._

_Thus far, Heath, despite being hunted for treason by Bern, has followed his love Priscilla to Caerleon in an attempt to forget his past. He has finally won the approval of her step-parents and they intend to be married. Erk, enduring an awkward period in his relationship with Priscilla after he confessed his own love for her, received an invitation to visit Caerleon because Priscilla wanted to reestablish their friendship. Although he was afraid to go, he eventually went at the urging of Serra, who—although she loved Erk, herself—wanted to see him happy so badly that she forced him off and even began to send him letters full of love advice so that he might woo Priscilla, despite the hurt it caused her. After hearing of Priscilla's engagement in the last chapter, Erk began writing Serra and asking how to proceed, but she had no answers for him. Farina has been delivering these letters back and forth, bickering plenty with Hector each time she returns to Ostia with a letter for Serra, although the lord in question has taken a strange liking to her. She tries to steal his bed every time she stays a night in the castle, insisting that it is the most comfortable, so he is often booted to a couch._

_Kent, meanwhile, had left Caelin in order to journey to Sacae, wishing to learn their complicated custom of weaving marriage bracelets so that he will have a gift for Lyndis on their wedding day. While traveling he ran into Rath's tribe, and through an odd turn of events discovered that Rath, too, loved Lyn, although he and Guy have agreed to teach Kent how to weave his bracelet. While Kent is absent, Lyn (accompanied by Sain) visited Hector for a time and is now in Pherae visiting Eliwood and his tactician Della, her old friends. Of course Sain and Della get right back to their usual shenanigans, especially the latter, who gets into a fight with Eliwood over Ninian's memory. Eliwood's growing feelings for the tactician have been making him nervous lately, especially since his last promise to Ninian before she entered the Dragon's Gate was to never forget her. Is it better to keep to his word and suffer without her, or to let Della help him forget?_

_At the end of the last chapter, Vaida had tracked down Heath, warning him that she and several other dracoknights from Bern were assigned to bring him back for his execution. She gave him two days to run, as a merciful head start._

* * *

_**Chapter Fourteen—Chase**_

Heath cursed once, his bitter word turning into a harmless puff of white smoke as he clutched Hyperion's bridle. His mount had tossed his head when Heath almost had the blasted thing on.

"We have got to _go_, Hyperion," he growled through gritted teeth, reaching up to force the bridle on again. "You know that!"

The wyvern snorted and shook its head again.

"_Hyperion!_ We don't have time for this! Vaida's probably already on her way here, and if we're still around Priscilla when she shows up…" Heath couldn't bring himself to finish the sentence. _A knife at her throat, her head forced under water…there are so many things that they could do to her. The only way to protect her is to ensure that I'm gone, that nobody knows where I am…_her_ most of all!_

Hyperion pawed the ground restlessly with one massive hind leg, his talons scraping through inches of snow. Flakes were still falling, making the night far darker than it should have been, whirling into Heath's vision and clinging to his already-soaked hair. He brushed the locks away irritably as they fell into his eyes and tried the bridle again, chastising his wyvern: "I am _not_ running away—this is different! What am I _supposed_ to do, huh? Stop making this more difficult for me than it already is!"

Hyperion waited until Heath had secured his bridle before tossing his head one more time, finally pointing with his snout to something beyond Heath. The wyvern rider quickly shot out a hand to grip the cold metal of his lance from where it rested in the saddle, ready to turn and face whatever enemy approached him…but the voice that spoke from behind him was not an opponent's voice. It was high and sweet and utterly familiar as it whispered:

"…You promised."

The soft words cut through the bitterly icy air more acutely than even the fiercest wind. Heath flinched.

Priscilla saw that, the rippling of his back, and could not take her eyes away. His hair was whitening more with each passing moment as the sky vomited forth an endless torrent of snow. She knew that if she had looked away from him, towards the sky, she might have seen a bit of beauty in the night—the low, thick storm clouds were breaking towards the west, and the visible sky in the distance was violet and dotted with bright stars.

"You _promised_," she said again, trying her hardest to keep her voice from breaking. Heath didn't turn to face her.

"Priscilla…you should get back inside," he murmured in reply. "You'll catch cold."

"That's all you have to say to me?" Her words were a demand, though her voice wasn't angry. Heath finally turned, swallowing hard, but when he saw her—hands twisting in agitation, cloak flaring out in the unforgiving wind—he immediately averted his eyes, gripping Hyperion's reins tightly.

"I need to fly."

"_Now_?" she asked desperately. She took a step towards him, shakily. "Heath…why would you go flying out in this? I know that Hyperion is used to cold weather but…this is the worst storm Caerleon has seen in years. All of the mages predicted its coming."

_I won't be gone long_, he should have told her. _I'll be back soon. Don't worry about me, I've done this dozens of times before, remember? I'll be back. I swear I'll be back._

The words got caught in his throat—he wasn't certain of their truthfulness, and couldn't bring himself to lie to her.

"Heath," she said again. A sob was coming, she could feel it, though she clutched at her throat in attempt to muffle it. "Y-you…you assured me so often that you would n-never…"

_That I'd never leave you._ Heath closed his eyes, desperate to escape the sight of the tears now falling from her own. Elimine, what was the right thing to do? He couldn't stand to see her cry, to break his vows to her…he had promised so often and so fervently. He had truly believed that he spoke the truth. And yet the tables had been turned completely. If he didn't leave _now_, before she got too involved…she could get hurt. Which was the nobler thing to do—to go back on his word and make her miserable? Or to put her in harm's way?

She could live through the former option.

"Get back inside, Priscilla," he said again, more roughly than he needed to. He had no doubts that Vaida would be flying through this storm—every moment he tarried was another moment closer to capture.

"I…I won't!" She marched right up to him, close enough so that he could see that her eyes were flashing, even in the darkness. "Tell me where you're going! Saint Elimine, for once in your life, _tell_ me!"

Heath pressed his lips together and tugged on Hyperion's reins, urging his mount one step forward. The sooner they got out of the shadow of the stables, the sooner they could get away.

"Answer me!" Priscilla cried. She raised a hand—to strike him, Heath realized with faint amusement. He had always thought her too gentle to resort to violence…although he knew that she was a very willful girl. He caught her wrist before she could land a hit on his chest, locking his eyes on hers. _I must be scaring her very badly, indeed_.

She stared up at him for a long moment, face softening and lips parting before her hand finally went limp in his grasp.

"Heath," she whispered, "is this about Bern?"

He took a sharp breath. "…You don't need to know that."

"I do!" she insisted, anger returning to her watery gaze. "You can't just leave me and not tell me why you…oh, Heath…Heath, why are you leaving me?"

Her muscles slackened at that; she lost the will to stand, to even _exist_ without him, and she fell against him before she could right herself again. Heath released Hyperion's reins to catch her.

"Please," she whispered into his shirt, "Please don't go!"

"I have to," he murmured back, desperately. "I have to, I have to leave. I can't stay here with you, Priscilla, you know it as well as I do."

She shook her head; he tightened his arms around her and pressed his lips to her hair. She barely felt the kiss through the damp snow clinging to it.

"I'll hide you," she sobbed. "They'll never find you, here."

"They've _already_ found me." Heath wanted to break the news to her about Vaida, about his chance to flee, but he had already said too much. "I'll…I'll come back, Priscilla. You know that."

"Do you swear that, too?" she asked bitterly.

"On my life," he answered. _I will find a way back to you…even if I die trying. Even if you never learn of the effort I made._

She was trembling now. "Heath…I'm so frightened."

"Of being left?" he asked her softly.

Fresh tears escaped at that; anguish squeezed at her heart because he was so very _right_. This was the night she had feared since the moment she had met him, the fear that only renewed itself with every promise and kiss and word about the future. She had known this was inevitable all along, known it as much as he had. And yet…yet, how could he think her so shallow, her tears so self-concerned?

"There's so much more than that, Heath!" she cried, clutching the back of his shirt. "I'm frightened for _you_! What if you get hurt? How could I possibly help you, heal you, if I don't even know how to find you, or where you are, or when I can expect you back—if I can even expect such a thing at all!"

"Priscilla," he whispered, and simply held her tightly for a moment. "I'll be fine. Please…don't worry for me."

"Nothing I can say will make you stay," she mumbled, not even sparing the effort to phrase her words as a question.

"No, Pris. Nothing can."

She was still weeping, and Heath's heart wrenched to hear it. He slid his hand under her chin and forced her to look at him, her pale face blotchy and pink and tears still streaming from her eyes.

"My parents are gone," she told him. She knew that her voice wobbled, but she tried to be brave. "They sent me away. My brother left me…and even when I found him again, he was distant, and not like the boy I remembered at all. Erk was always there…because of a contract. That's how we became friends—he was _bound_ to it." She laughed slightly, sadly, before reaching up and touching his face. "You were the only one that made me feel that…I wouldn't always be by myself. You approached _me_, rather than me having to come to you. I was never afraid of loving you, because I could feel your love in return. We got past every obstacle, even the differences in our ranks. Heath, you were the one to make me believe that everything would be all right. And now…"

She gestured around—to his saddled wyvern, to their sorrowful embrace, to the snow falling from the sky like hundreds, _thousands_ of tears, frozen in death.

"Everything _is_ going to be all right," Heath insisted, before wistfully adding, "Someday."

She was still gazing at him. She looked so miserable…so vulnerable. This—Elimine forbid—could be the last time that he would ever get to see her, touch her…

He bent forward and kissed her, as passionately as he knew how to. Her knees buckled as she gasped in surprise, and she might have fallen if he hadn't already had his arms around her. He put everything he had into the kiss, remembering every time he had done so before, desperate to make one last memory—the feel of her waist, the warmth of her lips, the taste of her tears. When he finally pulled away, it was reluctantly, and he waited until he felt her shift her weight to her own two feet before he let her go.

"Someday," he whispered again.

And then he was turning away from her, jumping into Hyperion's saddle, taking off with a mighty rush of freezing wind and a shower of snow. Priscilla threw up an arm to protect her face, and when the air cleared again, he was already soaring towards the west.

"No!" she cried, and began to chase after him, but her knees wobbled and she fell to all fours on the snowy ground. She stared helplessly up into the dark sky, after him, only vaguely aware of the soft whistle of the wind or the snow seeping through her skirts and burning her raw hands or the faint starlight far off in the distance.

* * *

As Sain leaned on the battlements of Castle Pherae, watching the sun sink below the horizon, there was only one thing that he could think about: friendships. He found it ironic how something so simple and pure could also be so complicated. Kent was at the front of his mind, of course…and Lady Lyn…and Della, who had stormed into his room only an hour ago, throwing up her hands, crying,

_He's ignoring me! Of all the nerve! _

He hadn't understood—as usual—but she had actually explained herself: she and Lord Eliwood had gotten into a row. Over Ninian's memory, of course. Sain was surprised that Lord Eliwood was actually capable of _arguing_ with someone, but he supposed that if anyone was annoying enough to provoke him, it was Della.

_You can't say you didn't ask for this_, Sain had reprimanded her.

_I know_, she had replied. _But…I was only trying to help-_

_That was _not _the way to do it-_

_I know. I know. But his anger was so…sudden. A mere moment earlier, he had been asking me a question…_The tactician had laced her fingers together. _He was…staring into my eyes, an inch away from my face…and I think…_

_Well, well._

_Shut up, Sain. It wasn't like that._ The words came as a whisper.

He had rolled his eyes. _And, let me guess—you ruined the moment by turning away? Changing the subject?_

_Telling him to forget her?_ she had shot back. _And besides…he pulled back of his own accord. Of course he wasn't seriously…he didn't want to…_

Even the fact that she had clasped her hands couldn't keep Sain from noticing how badly they were shaking. He had gently taken her wrists, forcing her to let go, and held her hands in his own. _Just because h__e didn't kiss you doesn't mean he didn't want to. Don't tremble so._

_I don't want him to kiss me! He's a ginger and that's weird! I just…for a moment, everything was so…_

_Tender._

He had thrown the word out, a shot in the dark, but he knew that he was correct by the way she had flung her arms around his neck and held on for dear life. _I've ruined our friendship, Sain. He's mad at me._

_But you aren't angry with him, as well?_

_I can't be. I can't be._

_Leave it to me, darling._

Sain was probably supposed to be thinking up a solution to Della's current problem, but as he stared at the setting sun, all he could really concentrate on was Kent. He still had no idea where exactly his boon companion was or how he was faring…really, this was the farthest Kent had gone from Caelin alone. He remembered Kent confiding to him that he had never been to Sacae, on the very beginning of their journey…and even then, they had only gotten to Badon. Even then, Sain had been with him.

_He never even said goodbye to me._

Sain felt his heart pinch slightly. He knew that Kent had meant to leave Caelin secretly, so that Lady Lyn wouldn't catch on and stop him…but would it have _killed_ him to let his best friend know what he was doing? Was Sain really so untrustworthy?

"Partner," he groaned aloud, "It was just a stupid bracelet! It couldn't have meant that much!"

"I think it meant more than you know, Sain."

The green knight jumped guiltily before turning to face the woman walking towards him…Lady Lyndis, herself. Typical.

"My lady!" he exclaimed, and felt his own face light up. "How do you fare?"

"Better than you, it seems," she replied with a smile as she closed the distance between them. "It isn't like you to think at all, Sain, let alone so deeply."

"You wound me, milady," he insisted, and clapped a hand over his heart. "Depth is my specialty! My heart, for example, is bottomless, and yet _still_ manages to overflow with my ardent devotion for you-!"

"You can stop acting that way and start telling me what's on your mind, you know," Lyn smirked, leaning on her elbows on the railing beside him. Sain joined her after a moment.

"Why did he have to go, Lady Lyn?" he asked softly.

"This was his way of proving to me that he would—and can—accept my culture," she murmured, staring out to the horizon. "This is his apology for the way the Lycians treat me, and his declaration that he will no longer allow anything to come between us." She heaved a wistful sigh. "I tried to stop him, but…you know how he gets when he's set on something."

"Aye, do I know," Sain agreed. He rested his chin in his hand and stared at her with a fond smile. The setting sun lit up her face, accenting her tanned complexion and sharp features, gleaming against her long hair…and her eyes were full of it, full of everything—strength and sorrow and sunlight.

"You look especially beautiful this evening, you know, milady," he told her, reaching for her hair as if to touch it. "Of course, you're absolutely glorious _all _the time, but…"

He trailed off and let his hand slip back to his side. Lyn glanced at him curiously.

"What? Sain of Caelin actually broke off mid-complement?"

The green knight smiled ruefully. "It's a reflex, I suppose…I'm still so used to Kent coming up and scolding me whenever I'd start to flatter a woman—especially you. Only you, actually…he couldn't _stand _it."

"Really?" It wasn't actually a question. Lyn smirked, looking quite satisfied.

"Of course." Sain grinned devilishly. "And sometimes…when I wanted to make him _angry_…I would dare to touch you, like so." He slipped a friendly arm around Lyn's shoulders, drawing her against his side.

"He was jealous of something as casual as this?" Lyn asked in surprise.

"My lady, I received the harshest of reprimands afterwards," Sain assured her. "Especially after the first time—after perhaps two days of travelling with you, I might've held onto your hand a little longer than necessary after I'd kissed it…"

"Two days? He already felt so strongly about me?"

Sain threw back his head and laughed. "Milady, he's been smitten with you since the very second he first saw you!"

"Did he tell you all this?" Lyn pressed, feeling a thrill run through her. _Oh, Kent! I never knew!_

"I wouldn't say that he _told _me so," Sain admitted reluctantly, "but I could tell. It wasn't very difficult. He tried his hardest to hide it, but surely you know how _pathetically _terrible he is at concealing a chivalrous thing like Truth!"

Lyn leaned into Sain's half-embrace, staring morosely out to the setting sun. "I miss him so much…"

"As do I, my lady," her knight whispered, following her gaze. "As do I."

* * *

Priscilla hadn't been out of her rooms that evening.

Erk nervously paced the floor that her chambers were on, hardly noticing the snow pouring down through the windows as he tried to think of an excuse to knock on her door. The rules and etiquette of Serra's Love Guide raced through his mind, line by line, but he couldn't seem to filter out anything that would help, in this circumstance. Erk had not seen Priscilla at supper—which was rather uncommon, as she _was_ obligated to entertain her guests—and her stepparents had fretted that she hadn't skipped meals since she had first come to Caerleon, crying for the boy called Raymond.

That was when Erk found his excuse. His mind still racing, he bounded down the steps three floors to the kitchens. _Come to think of it, I haven't seen Heath this evening, either._

The thought of what that could mean set his blood boiling, and it was with an unusual terseness that he informed the cooks that he would like a meal to deliver to Priscilla's chamber. He folded his arms as he watched servants scurry around the dining hall, servants who all knew by now who he was and how much Priscilla cherished him.

_Not in the way I'd always dreamed of_, he thought cynically, but remembered to politely thank the servant that eventually handed him a covered silver tray. _Oddly enough,_ Serra _filled that role_…

Thinking of Serra—who had proven herself such a devoted friend, as of late-sent a twinge of warmth through Erk as he climbed the flights of stairs again, though it was completely gulfed by the rush of it he felt when he was standing in front of Priscilla's door. Merely thinking of the troubadour had the ability to make him blush. After taking a deep breath to steel himself, he balanced the tray on one hand and used the other to knock upon the dark, glossy wood of the door.

There was no response.

Erk frowned, and knocked again, but received the same result. He hurled a prayer to Saint Elimine as he turned the doorknob (Serra would have been proud of him; she chided him too often for relying on logic instead of the Saint, who never listened to him anyway), hoping that he wouldn't be seen as too forward for opening her door…but when he had poked his head inside her receiving chamber and called her name again, there was still no answer.

He took a tentative step inside and looked around, but was unable to spot her. The door to her sleeping chamber was closed. Erk considered just leaving her tray on a table and tiptoeing away before he disturbed anything, but a new wave of worry gripped his heart.

_Why_ wouldn't Priscilla have left her rooms, that night? Was something the matter? What if she was ill, or—

Erk silenced his mind and pressed his ear to the door, surprised when he actually heard something. Somebody was…breathing…but it couldn't be simply that, could it? It was too harsh, too uneven.

He knew then that he could not walk away. He had to see Priscilla, to find out what was going on…or, at _least_, to deliver the girl her supper. That was why, after thinking of Serra's Guide to remember his purpose, he tapped his knuckles lightly against the door to announce his presence and actually took the initiative to slowly open Priscilla's door.

"Priscilla?" he called softly as he stepped into the room, hoping that she was decent and holding her silver tray aloft. "I've brought you-"

What he saw made him stop short, instantly swallowing his words.

Priscilla was crumpled into a kneel at the side of her bed, sobbing into the blankets as her fingers clutched desperately at the lacy material. Her shoulders heaved with grief and she gasped for air, as if her anguish had a hold around her delicate neck and was strangling her.

Erk's grip on the tray slackened, sending it leaning one way and causing all of the food to slide off of it and smash on the polished stone floor. "Priscilla!"

She looked up at him then, startled at the crash of breaking tableware, her face streaked with tears and her eyes swollen. "Erk…?"

"Priscilla, what…?" Ignoring the mess on the floor, Erk held the tray by his side and took a step towards the healer. "Are you all right? Are you—"

"Oh, Erk!" she cried, fresh tears spilling out of her eyes as she leapt to her feet and sprinted to him. She flung her arms around his waist and buried her face in his shoulder, sobs wracking her body once more. "Erk, Erk, Erk…"

The tray clattered unheeded to the floor as Erk automatically wrapped his arms around her, his mind racing. _What in the_ world _is going on__?_

"Priscilla," he asked urgently, "What is it? What's the matter?"

She didn't answer him—all she did was weep and clutch at the material of the back of his shirt. Her breath on his neck and her breasts pressed against his chest made it hard for him to think for a moment, but eventually everything snapped into place: her isolation, her tears, her cold and trembling arms.

_Heath is gone._

"It's all right," he whispered right away, instinctively. He held her close and tenderly stroked her hair, desperate to calm her down. "It's all right…please don't cry, Priscilla…it will all be fine, you'll see…"

"He p-promised…not t-to l-leave me…alone!" she choked out. Erk pressed his face hard against her hair.

"You're _not_ alone," he told her fiercely. "Right now, you have me. You will _always_ have me."

Her sobs quieted, if slightly, and she pressed herself more tightly against him. "B-but…"

"I'm still here," he murmured. She continued to weep against his shoulder, and he lost track of how long they stood there together. "I gave you my vow a long time ago."

"E-Erk, your contract expired _months_ ago-"

"I'm not here because of a _contract_, Priscilla!" Erk pushed her away suddenly so that he might look into her watering eyes, gripping her shoulders hard. "I'm still here for you because when I gave my promise, I meant it. No matter what any contract says, it's still valid. I'm still here for you."

She moved back into his arms, clutching the front of his shirt as if she feared she would be swept away in the current of her desolation without doing so. "Erk…"

"I won't ever leave you," he promised her in a whisper as his fingers found their way into her hair—he had never before touched her hair that way, those soft and flame-colored locks. He simply couldn't understand how Heath could even leave her side, let alone her life completely, and his insides burned with hatred for the wyvern rider…especially as Priscilla whispered back, in a voice so soft that he barely even heard it,

"I don't believe you."

* * *

"Milord Eliwood?"

Eliwood stopped and turned around in the cold corridor, peering into the dim orange light from the lamps on the walls as it glinted off of an approaching figure. It was deep in the night, and he had already been on his way back to his bedchamber—also doubtlessly cold—when a voice had called his name. He could make out the glint of firelight on green armor, and after another moment, he finally recognized the man who stopped a respectful distance before him.

"Sir Sain?" Eliwood asked, a bit confused. "What is it?"

The knight appeared to think for a moment, his eyes rolling off to the side, but he finally fixed the lord with a straight stare. "My lord, I pray that you will forgive my blunt manner, but I cannot keep silent while she is suffering like this…distraught over the fact that she has angered you."

"Who? What do you mean?" Eliwood near-demanded, though it was a struggle to keep his face expressionless. He knew full well who Sain was talking about, though the knight himself didn't seem to want to admit it. Sain simply smiled very slightly, shook his head once, and murmured,

"Never mind. Please excuse me, my lord."

He bowed before turning and walking off the way he had come. Eliwood stood there for a moment longer, staring after him, deep in thought.

_Distraught? That's…impossible. Della can't possibly be 'suffering' after the grand time she had avoiding me today…surely…_

He sighed once before changing his course, planning to pass by his tactician's room on the way to his own—just to check on her, of course, since he hadn't seen her all day and she could easily have gotten sick from eating too many waffles or hurt from jumping down the stairs he always told her not to jump down…

_I simply can't stay angry_, he thought ruefully as he came to a stop before her room. The door was closed, and he could hear nothing…he was surprised to think that she might actually be asleep. He tapped the door lightly with his knuckles, and when she did not answer, he cautiously twisted the doorknob and slid the door open a crack. The faint candlelight of the hallway streaked into the room to light upon the bed and the balled-up figure sleeping on the very edge of it.

_Silly girl. She's going to fall._

Eliwood thought that he should move her, before she shifted in her sleep and ended up on the floor. As he stepped into the room, he noticed that her room was considerably colder than his own would be—and that she took up only a small corner of the large bed. The rest of it was still neatly made…and wide and empty.

Her unruly hair was falling into her face. Eliwood sighed and tucked it behind her ear, somehow feeling that he couldn't say anything if he couldn't see her face—the last thing they needed was another barrier between them.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, even though he knew she could not hear him. "I know that what I said to you was awful. I didn't mean to become angry. I just…worry. About a lot of things. Including you."

He didn't know why he was explaining himself—she was clearly asleep. And still about to fall out of bed. With another sigh, Eliwood walked around to the other side and climbed in beside her, sliding an arm around her waist and pulling her towards the center of the bed, away from her perilous position. He meant to leave her right then, but she shifted, rolling over to face him, clutching at his shirt. It seemed that she had awakened slightly when he moved her—or, perhaps, knew the feel of him well enough to recognize him even in her sleep—because she mumbled his name.

"I'm here," he whispered to her, and tucked her head beneath his chin.

xXx

When Eliwood woke to the darkness of early dawn, the first thing he became aware of was a strange weight on his chest. Looking down, he found that Della had managed to fling an arm around his middle in her sleep and substitute his chest for her pillow. He sighed—as much as his compressed lungs would allow, anyway. _It looks like I fell asleep here._

His tactician slowly rose a few minutes later, stirring before her eyes fluttered open and registered his face with surprise.

"Good morning," he murmured to her.

"Eliwood?" she asked in reply, her voice thick with sleep. "…What are you doing here?"

_An excellent question. _"You had fallen asleep on the very edge of your bed—I feared that you would fall off without something to pull you back to the middle."

"Jeez, that's what my mom says. But I _always_ sleep on the very edge of my bed." She looked up at him for a moment before adding, "When I'm by myself, anyway."

"It made me nervous, nonetheless," Eliwood retorted.

Her gaze fell from his, and she was silent for a long moment before she ventured, "…I thought you were angry with me."

"No," said Eliwood softly. "Actually, I had come in to apologize, last night…but you were already asleep."

She lifted her head from his chest to stare at him incredulously. "_You _wanted to apologize? After I was such a jerk to you?"

Eliwood managed a small smile. "You were only trying to help-"

"No, I was only desecrating the glory of history!" Della pushed herself away and sat up—the better, Eliwood realized with dismay, to deliver a rant. "I told you to forget her…but you shouldn't ever do that, and it's not my place to say such a thing, anyway! That's what makes life so fascinating, after all—seeing causes and effects, befores and afters, how things change you and the world around you. To forget her…would be losing a part of what makes you _you_, and you should deal with her memory however _you_ see fit." She lowered her voice until it was hardly a whisper: "I don't know why I was so adamant about forgetting her, in the first place. I'm…sorry."

"No, _I'm_ sorry," Eliwood insisted.

"For _what?_" she demanded. "You didn't do anything wrong!"

She had started to move off of the bed, but Eliwood reached out and grabbed her hand before she could. "I lied to you."

"About what?" she asked, looking suddenly confused as she turned to face him. Eliwood simply sighed.

"I know that you could have gone anywhere," he said finally, "with anyone, for anything…but I'm glad that you're here with me."

She stared at him for a long minute, but finally her lips quirked upwards into a smile. "So am I. And, just between us…?" She leaned closer, almost conspiratorially, and whispered, "I couldn't actually have gone anywhere else. Pherae would've called me back."

"What do you mean?" he asked breathlessly, his heart suddenly beating faster.

The tactician merely smirked. "Well, there's always FE6 to think about, isn't there? I'd like to play that one eventually."

Eliwood was almost able to ask her what she meant, but the quick kiss she pressed to his cheek made him cut himself off before he could utter a single sound. He was still frozen and staring fixedly at the coverlet as Della slid out of bed and walked to her wardrobe.

"You didn't close the door last night," she sang mockingly as she threw open the wardrobe door, exposing rows of clothing—all green. "You'd better wait twenty whole minutes before peeking your head out of those covers, or else everyone will call us skanks!"

"Oh, Elimine, I'd forgotten," Eliwood groaned, covering his face with a hand.

"Funny, that," the tactician retorted dryly, selecting a green tunic and folding it over her arm. "I was under the impression that this arrangement was _never_ going to happen _ever again_. Isn't that what you said?"

"I wasn't thinking," whispered Eliwood.

She smirked back. "And you picked the wrong tactician to do the job for you, _that's_ for sure."

* * *

Elimine, she looked _dead_.

Dead. Yes, that's what she was. Slain by Heath's hand, by the frigid wind of his wyvern's wings as it took off, a delicate flower murdered by frost. And Erk felt himself start to die, as well.

She hadn't left her room in days—her step-parents were worried, and were livid at Heath himself once Erk told them what had happened. They had started entrusting Erk with taking meals to their daughter, since she would not come down to eat of her own accord. He was the only one that she even remotely responded to…and even that was hard for Erk to watch. He didn't like the way she forced her smiles, the way her usually open eyes were now hard and impassive. He didn't like sitting by her as minutes of silence dragged on, watching her stir her food uselessly with her fork without actually consuming any of it.

"Priscilla…"

He murmured her name for what must have been the hundredth time in four days, and she replied in the same way she had been for those many times, her voice too high and too light:

"Erk?"

She still wouldn't look at him. Sometimes the sage even wondered if she fully realized he was there at all, and was simply responding to the sound of her name. He reached out to her, but hesitated, unsure if it would be wise to touch her in her current, fragile state. She was already paler, and thinner, and though Erk had not seen her cry since the eve of Heath's departure, her eyes were always rimmed with red. However, it was then that he remembered the newest segment of Serra's Love Guide, and felt another surge of gratefulness for Farina's speedy deliveries. Serra had ranted for pages upon pages upon _pages_ about Heath leaving Priscilla and how scandalous it was and how she had known it would happen all along…and then she began to revise all of her previous rules.

_Love Guide Rule 87—Look, Erk, at this point, nobody cares about propriety. If she needs to be comforted, she needs to be comforted. Don't pay attention to what her parents would think. Ignore the fact that she was betrothed to another man. And maybe you shouldn't even consider how SHE would feel, or if you would be intruding upon her feelings…because darn it, Erky, SHE NEEDS TO BE HUGGED RIGHT NOW! And you wouldn't want to pass up a chance like that, would you?_

However, Erk never pulled Priscilla into his arms, no matter how he longed to do so—for no matter what Serra said, he could not bring himself to make her uncomfortable. Still, Serra's advice reminded him that he did not need to fear touching her at _all_…so he reached out his hand again and let it rest upon her shoulder. Her head snapped up as he did, and there was surprise in her bright green eyes when she finally turned to look at him.

"Priscilla," he said gently, "would you like to go for a walk?"

She took a long time to answer—so long that he almost repeated the question. Finally she told him yes.

xXx

The garden was freezing this time of year, and most of the plants were long dead, but it felt good to be out in the sun. Erk escorted Priscilla up and down the rows of dead, skeletal bushes until they came to a row of holly, where they lingered. The glossy green leaves and bright red berries were far more pleasant to look at than the grey sky.

Secretly, Erk had to admit, he enjoyed that it was cold. Even with her mink-lined cloak, Priscilla had begun to shiver so badly that he extended his elbow to her, and with her hand in the crook of his arm and her body pulled closer to the side of his, he almost felt warmer than he would have inside. Her shaking had subsided as well.

"I got a letter from Lady Louise today," he told her, and the warmth against his side flooded up into his chest and down to his toes as he recalled the lady's round, flowing cursive—and, more importantly, the message it brought.

"Oh?" Priscilla asked him politely. She was looking at the holly.

"Yes." He felt himself grin. The wind was cold against his teeth and he didn't even mind. "Priscilla…Louise had her child."

The girl next to him stopped in her tracks, white face swiveling swiftly to his, green eyes huge. "What?"

"She and Lord Pent are parents!" The words were pouring from him now; he had been waiting for the news for nigh on six months. "It's a boy; they've named him Klein. He's healthy, and Lady Louise is healthy. He has blond hair like her. Lord Pent started an observation journal. He says the babe has an unnaturally strong grip."

"That's…so wonderful!" Priscilla smiled for the first time in days. The effect was dazzling. Erk nearly reeled as she took his hands. "They must be so happy!"

"Ecstatic," he laughed.

"And you! You must be so happy!"

"Ecstatic!"

For a long moment there was nothing they could do besides stand there looking at each other, grinning like fools, flushed with joy. Erk contemplated kissing her smile, or even just lifting her gloved hands and kissing those, but he couldn't do it. Just to look into her face for the moment, just to see her happy…that was enough.

"So what are you going to do now, Erk?"

He thought for a moment. What _did_ he want to do? It had been so wonderful to tell the news to Priscilla that he wanted to keep spreading it.

"I'll write Serra," he declared suddenly. "I want her to know too."

Priscilla's smile widened, although Erk wasn't sure why. "I think that's a lovely idea. You should certainly write her."

He escorted Priscilla back and all the way up to her room first, however. She paused before she opened her door.

"I feel…a lot better, Erk," she told him softly. "Thank you."

"Of course," he answered. "If you ever…need to talk, or—"

She shook her head and her fiery fringe swung, making him stop. "No…thank you."

"I'm…I'm sorry." He bowed his head to her and turned to leave, but stopped when he heard her call,

"Erk?"

He spun slowly back. "Yes?"

Her cheeks were red again, like they were for that moment in the garden. "Do you think that…we could take another walk tomorrow?"

"Yes," he said with a smile. "I would like that."

* * *

It was breakfast as usual in Pherae—Lord Eliwood, Lady Lyn, Della, and Sain were all clustered around the end of a long table in the dining hall, eating in relative silence. Lord Eliwood had his usual porridge—milk but no sugar, Lady Lyn was at work on a rasher of bacon, Della was pouring entirely too much maple sap onto the strange waffles she had Lowen make for her each morning, and Sain himself could hardly concentrate on the apple in his hand because the shade of pink the sky was beneath the risen sun was so beautiful that he wanted to compose a poem about it. He even considered excusing himself to dash to his room and pen it down, before he lost the inspiration.

Then the morning messenger arrived, at the same time he always did, handing Eliwood several thick folds of parchment and Lyn one or two of the same (doubtlessly updates from Caelin). They unfolded and read them as usual. The messenger also had a letter for Della this morning, sealed with a purple Etrurian seal, and after she had ripped it open and scanned it she yelled "HOLY COWBOWSERS!" so loudly that Eliwood jolted and Lyn sighed.

This, too, was usual. Sain felt himself smile.

"Sain, check out this nonsense!" Della hissed, running around the table to plop herself into a chair next to him. He tried to make out the letters of the parchment she was shoving into his face, but they were held too close.

"Stop that," he told her, snatching it from her hand. "Who is it from?"

"Erk! Did you read it yet?"

"No, I've only had it for less than a se—"

"Heath left Priscilla!"

Sain blinked, set the paper down on the table, and looked over at her. Lyn and Eliwood paused from their messages as well.

"Della…are you sure?" Lyn ventured. "They seemed very much in love. I can't believe he would just…"

"But it's what Erk says in his letter." Della's brows had knit. "Erk wouldn't lie about a thing like this. Priscilla must be devastated. Why would Heath leave? He was lucky enough to find true love…and the idiot ran away from it!"

Eliwood was staring fixedly into his porridge bowl, Sain noticed. He supposed he didn't have to ask what—or who—he was thinking about.

The thought was hard on Sain as well, however. He considered himself a purveyor of beauty, and Priscilla was a beauty indeed—huge green eyes, a sweet face, and hair bright as flame. Best of all was her voice, high and melodious, always kind and never terse. He had loved Priscilla well, had deemed her the princess of his heart amongst all the other countesses and baronesses and marchionesses. That had made her giggle.

"The peerless Princess Priscilla is all alone, then?" he asked, his heart breaking.

"Not for long," Della retorted, taking the letter from the table and rolling it up.

"Oh?" Eliwood looked up then, raising his eyebrows, as if he already knew what the tactician was thinking. Sain had a rather sinking suspicion, as well.

"I will wait," Della said as she stuck the letter into her belt. "For now. But I'm not a patient woman."

Sain snorted, forgetting himself—he was so comfortable with Lyn and Della that he didn't think of Eliwood. "You're hardly a woman at all!"

"Sir," the lord of Pherae said suddenly, sternly. That one word was enough. Sain shut his mouth. Lyn looked at him with a subtle smile. Eliwood had turned his attention back to Della.

"You can't be thinking of leaving to find Heath," he told her.

She sighed sadly. "I was going to have fun being mysterious about it until you _laid it all in the open like that._"

"It's not reasonable."

"That's my middle name," said Della. "The 'not' part, I mean."

"I know you thought they were meant to be, but some things are out of our control," he continued, ignoring that. "What can you possibly do?"

"More than you think I can." Sain noticed that Della's hand slipped into her pocket and clenched around something there—a habit she had formed of late. He made a mental note to figure out what she carried with her.

Eliwood pressed his lips into a line before he locked his eyes on hers. "It's December. It will be cold at night."

Her face softened at that. "I know. I didn't say I'd leave _yet_. I should wait at least a while, first. See what happens. Continue to stop bad dreams."

His gaze did not fall. Neither did hers.

Lyn looked to Sain, confused; he could feel her eyes on him but he dared not look back. Their secret was not his to tell her, not yet. Still, he felt his lips curl unbidden into a smile, and it took a deal of will not to burst out laughing. _If they could only see how they're looking at each other! When will they realize how they feel? If something doesn't happen soon, I'll die of old age. Or boredom. Perhaps I need to give them a little…encouragement._

* * *

Farina finally managed to stumble into the great hall of castle Ostia, noting with dismay that all of the torches in the sconces that lined the stone walls had been put out for the night. It was hardly warmer in the vast vault of the hall than it had been outside, and outside she had been shivering almost too hard to walk. The wind of the snowstorm was screeching against the walls. She felt bad for Murphy—she had managed to get him unsaddled and safe in the stables, but it was still doubtlessly cold out there.

It was her own fault, she had to admit as she made her way down the halls, fiercely rubbing her wet arms with wet hands. She was an Ilian, she'd recognize storm clouds faster than the face of her own mother…but she hadn't stopped at that inn a few miles south of Ostia. She'd pushed on, telling herself she could make it to the castle in time.

The snow had hit too hard and too suddenly, spinning her and Murphy around and around with buffets of wind. Although she hadn't been frightened, they _had_ gotten off course, and it had taken her hours to re-navigate. She wasn't sure what time it was now, but she assumed it was closer to dawn than to midnight. And _gods_ was it cold!

The chill was in her very bones, numbing not just her fingers and toes but all the way up to her knees and elbows. She was exhausted, and knew it wasn't just from lack of sleep. Although all she wanted to do was open a door and fling herself into the nearest bed—she didn't even care that she couldn't have Hector's—she knew that she had to force herself into the kitchens, and force something warm into her belly.

After a lot of rummaging around, she managed to find herself a kettle. Now her problem was making a fire and setting it to boil. She shuddered hard and ignored the urge to just sit down on the flagstones and wrap her arms around herself. There was wood in the stove, and kindling, but she wasn't sure where they kept the flint and tinder. She began to poke about the wooden table near the stove, laden with drying pots and carving knifes, hoping just to shift things around a little bit until she found the flint…but she was shivering so badly that as she reached her hand forward she ended up knocking over an entire stack of pots, which clattered to the floor with an incredible din.

"Who's there?" a voice bellowed over the ruckus, and Farina winced, shivering harder. She tried to open her mouth to speak, but her teeth were chattering too hard to get a word out.

"I said who's _there?_" the voice demanded again. The faint glow of a candle appeared in the kitchen doorway.

"I-I-I j-just—"

"Hold on." She heard the frown in the voice and suddenly recognized it. The glow floated closer and closer, dodging mess tables, until finally it was close enough to illuminate the face of the figure holding it—the lord of Ostia. "Farina? Do you know what _time_ it is?"

"H-H-Hector!" She had never been so glad to see him. He would be able to start a fire, if she was shaking too hard to do it! "I—"

"You're shaking. Why are you shaking?" His brows lowered, casting shadows over his eyes, and he put a hand on her shoulder as he took a step past her, peering into the darkness for other people. As soon as he'd touched her, however, he withdrew his fingers quickly. "Gods, you're freezing! What's going on?"

She couldn't explain, she was running out of time. An Ilian knew the Cold Sleep when it came; an Ilian knew to fight it. "T-t-tea. Tea. B-boil it. Now."

"Gods. Here." He was wearing his cloak over soft cotton breeches and hastily-tied boots, but the next thing she knew he was pulling the cloak off and wrapping it around her shoulders. She jolted, realizing he was bare-chested beneath.

"N-no—"

"Stop it," he said crossly, "What else do you expect me to do?" He held the candle close to the table and began rummaging around for the flint, more gracefully than Farina had done. She stood there and shivered for a long moment before realizing that she had to get out of her wet clothes, or else the cloak would aid her little.

"D-don't look!" she insisted, edging back beyond the reach of the candle.

"Huh?" asked Hector, of course turning his head in her direction, but she was already well away from the light, and she did not answer him. She waited until he'd found the flint and gotten a good spark going in the stove with one of the knives before she quickly stripped and wrapped the cloak back around herself, pulling her boots back on as a second thought so Hector wouldn't ask about her bare feet. The warmth felt better already. When she returned to Hector's side, the tiny fire felt even better. She subtly stuck her bundle of wet clothes beneath the table, hoping not to draw attention to the fact that she was bare beneath the cloak, and huddled up before the stove while Hector rummaged around for tea leaves and a kettle.

"How does such an important lord know where everything in a kitchen is?" she asked him once he set the kettle to heating and sat down beside her. Without his cloak she could see goose pimples on his arms. _Well, that's tough for him. I surely can't give it back now._

He grinned. "This _very_ important lord snuck down here for many a midnight snack, in his day."

"In his day?" Farina asked pointedly.

Hector looked somewhat abashedly to the floor. "All right, that's what I was doing before I found you, yes. I couldn't sleep."

"Why not?" she asked. "Too cold outside? Don't you dare say that, because your room is the warmest in the castle."

"And the biggest," he reminded her.

She sniffed. "No need to brag!"

"No, no, that's just it. It's started to feel…empty, sometimes. It makes it hard to get to sleep."

Farina wasn't sure what to say to that. She was spared when he asked her, "So what in the gods' name are _you_ doing here? Soaking wet, freezing to death, no word…"

"I was not freezing to death!" she protested loudly. "And I would have been here a lot sooner if I wasn't caught out in that storm. I just got here."

Hector stared at her. "You were out in that?" Shaking his head in disbelief, he added, "You are a madwoman."

Farina's retort was cut off by the whistling of the kettle. Hector got to his feet, poured her some tea, disappeared into the darkness, and came back with some dried jerky for himself. She wrapped her arms around her cup and savoured the warmth before she drank it.

"Is it okay?" Hector asked cautiously after a minute. "I don't actually like tea, so…"

"I could be drinking boiling water and it would be just fine with me," Farina assured him. For a long while they sat there in silence. It wasn't an uncomfortable silence, she mused-she might even have called it pleasant. She sipped and listened to him chew his snack and occasionally watched the firelight flicker off the curves of the muscles in his arms and chest. She'd always known he was a strong man—he certainly boasted of it enough—but seeing the proof of it was strangely comforting.

After she'd finished her tea she could have just curled up on the stone floor and fallen asleep right there. She forced herself to stand up, instead, and set her cup on the table. "Well…it's nearly dawn. If we're going to get any sleep tonight, we should try to do it now."

Hector grunted his reluctant assent and stood as well, taking the candle with him. The two walked together up the two flights of stairs to his room, where they paused in front of the door. Normally Farina knew she would have demanded his bed for the night, for the warmth—she _had_ nearly frozen, after all, despite how little she wanted to admit it—yet as she looked at Hector, she decided against it. Surely it was because she was growing delirious from want of sleep, but she liked the lines of him just then: the crisp way his hair was falling onto his brow, the angle of his jaw, the shape of the hipbones his breeches balanced on.

"Well…goodnight," she told him finally.

He looked a little surprised that she wasn't demanding anything, but said nothing about it. Instead he held out his hand and said, "I…guess I should take my cloak back now."

Farina felt her eyes flare open. In her sleepiness, she'd left her wet clothes beneath the table.

"…No. You can't have it."

"What?" he asked irritably. "I did a nice thing and loaned it to you, that doesn't mean you can _have_ it."

"I'm not _taking_ it. I just can't give it back yet."

"Why not? Stubborn wench!"

"Petty, greedy lordling!" she countered, more for the sake of countering than because she meant it.

"Don't you go in that direction with me," he warned her, and reached out suddenly. He grabbed the cloak at the shoulder and tried to pull it off, but she had a tight grip on the front of it and stepped back—not quickly enough, however.

Hector stopped short. Farina glanced down with a frown. He'd exposed her shoulder, and the swell of her breast…not anything too indecent, judging by the dresses she'd seen noble women wear before, but certainly more than she'd wanted _him_ to see.

"You can't have it back yet," she repeated icily.

"I…I'm sorry." His eyes never left her skin. Grumpily, she shrugged the cloth back up to a better position.

"Yeah. Goodnight."

She had turned from him already when he asked her the most absurd question she'd heard all night:

"Wait! But…what will you sleep in?"

She turned back and looked at him incredulously.

"You need to keep warm," he insisted. Was that candlelight against his cheekbones, she wondered, or was he actually _blushing_? "You can't just sleep…bare. It'll be too cold. What will you sleep in, if your clothes are elsewhere?"

She blurted the first thing that came to mind: "I'll borrow something from Serra. She has to lend me something if she wants her letter; I left it in Murphy's saddlebag in the stables."

"Serra's fast asleep, you know that."

"Okay, so what do you expect me to do?"

"I mean, I could loan you something."

She continued to stare at him, unsure of whether she should scoff or laugh. Perhaps both. She felt an odd, awkward smile cross her face. "Well…do I have a choice?"

"No," he said abruptly, and entered his chamber, leaving the door open behind him. After a moment of thought, she followed and shut it.

Hector found her cotton pants similar to the ones he was wearing in his bureau, and pulled a white shirt out of a chest.

"It's soft enough," he told her, "but I don't have any actual sleeping shirts. I don't like to sleep in shirts." He gestured to his chest. Farina's face felt hot.

"You always sleep in a shirt when I'm here."

"I didn't want you to be uncomfortable." He sounded a little defensive, and pointed brusquely to his receiving chamber as he handed her the candle. "Just go change."

"Excuse _you._" She made for the chamber anyway, but paused in the doorway and said, "You know…you don't _have_ to sleep in one. I don't really care." Then she shut the door.

Hector had been right about the shirt—it was incredibly soft. It was almost unfair, she thought, that a man's shirt could be so much more comfortable than any of her own. He was a noble, she had to remind herself. He probably dined on noble carrots, too. Although the shirt was practically long enough to be her uniform, she slid the breeches on too. She was lucky there was a drawstring, or else they never would have stayed on her.

She had to hold her arms out and do a bit of a turn once she was dressed. She had never worn a man's clothes before. It was a strange thought. The receiving room had a small mirror by the door, and she crossed the room to get a look at herself—running into a problem right away.

The shirt had to be tied in front. Farina thought she had tied it well enough, but the neckline dipped between her breasts and practically down to her navel. She couldn't leave the room like that. With a huff, she tightened every possible lace and retied the top, and _still_ had to clutch the opening shut with a hand when she opened the door.

She found another oddity there—Hector curled up on his couch, covered by a blanket.

"I'm not sleeping in your bed," she told him with surprise.

"You might as well." His voice was muffled. "I'm not getting up."

She rolled her eyes. "Oh, stop being ridiculous! Just get up and get into bed. I'm going to my usual room."

"I'm _not getting up_."

She wrinkled her nose in irritation, tempted to ask why…yet somehow, in a secret part of her, she thought she might have already known the answer.

"Might as well," she sighed, and climbed into his bed, pulling the covers up tight around her. The candle went out; the room was fully dark. She could feel the mattress pulling at her, tugging her into sleep, but before it could she murmured, "…Thank you. For the tea. And everything."

"Goodnight, Farina," came his answer, oddly husky.

xXx

Hector did not sleep.

When the sun finally rose he sighed and forced himself up from the couch, accepting the tired day to come. He went to his chest at the foot of the bed to gather his clothes and glanced up at Farina. She was sound asleep, and with any luck would stay that way until noon. He was still embarrassed about trying to pull his cloak from her the night before, and he didn't want to hear about it until he absolutely had to.

Even _more_ embarrassing was afterward, he remembered with an unbidden flush. The sight of her pale shoulder and the hint of her breast was bad enough, but when he'd handed her his shirt he'd suddenly envisioned what she would look like wearing it—just it—and he couldn't get the image out of his head. His body had responded, which was mortifying, so he'd had no choice but to retreat to the couch, hide beneath his blanket, and try not to shake until his desire had abated.

The confusion he felt kept him up until dawn, and now he finally had to admit it to himself, as he looked at her all curled up beneath his sheets: he wanted her. And not just her shoulder and her breast, but the lock of hair lying against her cheek just now, and the high shriek of her laugh, and the mischievous twinkle in her eye. He wanted it all. Maybe more.

_It has to be more_, he realized then. _It can't just be_ wanting, _that's so simple. That wouldn't confuse me like this. So what is it, if not…?_

He didn't want to think about it. Clothes in hand, he abruptly made for his receiving chamber to change.

* * *

Serra's letter came quickly, and Erk couldn't help but think that everything was going better than expected.

Priscilla still ate little, and smiled less, but she would accompany him on a walk each day, and each time she would seem a little more like her old self. She would tell him nothing about Heath's departure, but a part of Erk got the feeling that perhaps she didn't say because she didn't truly know. The wyvern rider had been a fugitive after all…if he'd had to leave because of Bern, why would he have told Priscilla, knowing what danger that would put her in? And if Priscila knew or had found out, why would she tell Erk, for the same reason? He had to hand it to her—even in grief, she was practical.

Serra, on the other hand, was the absolute opposite—_as always, _he thought with a smile as he opened her letter. Her enthusiasm about his news of Klein was infectious. Even with all Erk had written her (and he'd managed several pages on the subject, for it always was so easy to talk to Serra), she still had questions for him: could the child do magic like Pent? What colour were his eyes? Did Erk feel like a big brother?

He did, somewhat, he realized then. Lady Louise had always treated him like her own child, and Pent had been a caring tutor. He felt a bond with little Klein already, and knew instinctively that he would have to be there for the boy as he grew up. Maybe Serra would, too—she wasn't the greatest of role models, but she loved children dearly, and had a knack for keeping them amused.

_She would make a good mother._ He had to purse his lips thoughtfully as the idea struck him. He'd never considered it before, but he supposed it was true. Lucius had been considering starting an orphanage after the war was over, and Erk remembered that he offered Serra the chance to come with him. She hadn't, but the look on her face at the prospect…she had suddenly appeared a lot happier, and a lot older.

Since he had just finished reading a book on genealogy and heredity, sitting here in his window seat—just some light reading, really, since Priscilla preferred to spend her mornings alone—he found himself wondering what Serra's children would even look like. Surely ridiculous, and they'd all be unable to sit still. He supposed it would depend on her husband, however…if she had children with Lucius, according to his book, her bright pink hair would overpower his much lighter shade, and all her children would probably have pink hair. But Lucius had blue eyes, which were more common than her Serra's lavender eyes, so the children's irises would be blue. Erk, on the other hand, with his darker hair and darker eyes…if he had children with Serra, they would most likely take after him.

He had to snort at the idea—his mind fed him the image of a gaggle of little girls with dark purple pigtails, shooting fire tomes at each other and screeching with laughter. _Utter nonsense! What a thought!_

A knock on his chamber door jolted him from it, however, and he slid out of the window seat, calling, "Come in!"

Priscilla shyly peeked her head inside. "Hello…um, I'm sorry, but…were we going for a walk today?"

"Oh, of course!" Erk glanced behind him, out the window, to gauge the position of the sun. "I didn't realize it had gotten so late!"

He couldn't help but smile. Cooing over Klein wasn't _all_ Serra had done in her letter…she had another piece of advice for him: _Wait and see if she will come to you. Once she does, it's probably a very good sign. It'll be a good time to act._

And here she was. At his door. Coming to him. And when she saw his smile, she smiled back.

* * *

Kent offered his newest knot to Rath's appraising eye, and got a mere nod in return. With a sigh of relief he began on the next knot, knowing he would have to show that one as well.

The two were sitting inside Rath's ger, by the warmth of a small fire. Kent had made about an inch of the bracelet—not even close to halfway done, but he was still quite satisfied with himself. It had taken a week just to learn all of the different knots, and even now he had to have Rath inspect each individual one. He'd had to re-do quite a lot of them, although he was getting better and faster at it. Guy occasionally dropped by during his breaks from chores to compliment him on his progress. Rath never said a word.

There had always been a tight uneasiness between him and the surly nomad. Kent tried not to acknowledge it at first, but it was getting harder and harder to deny. He didn't _like_ that Rath had loved his fiancée. He didn't _like_ how he'd offered to teach him but then treated him with resentment. And he certainly didn't like the silence of the days—not the comfortable saddle-silence he and Sain shared on the road as brothers in arms, nor the easy quietness of the gardens of Caelin, nor the long stretches where Lyn could sit in his arms and not say a single word. This silence was as stale and dry as hard tack. He knew it would end, for a lifetime of war had taught him how such things began…what he didn't know was when, or what it would take.

He finished his next knot, and held it to Rath again, who had been sitting as he always did—legs crossed and arms folded—and staring down into the fire. The nomad snorted this time, instead of nodding.

"I have re-taught you this one countless times. How can you possibly have forgotten again? What sort of man are you?"

Anger smoldered slow inside of Kent. Sain had always teased him for that, insisting that someone with such bright hair should possess a hotter head than the average man…but Kent never jumped at an insult, even when the insulter might have deserved it. He took his time.

_What sort am I? I am a slow one. I am an old-fashioned one. But I am one that would leave everything behind, if necessary. I am one who is willing to learn. I am one who will do everything, anything for her. Always for her. And perhaps you do not have her because you can not say the same._

"I am a loyal man," he said finally, and looked hard at Rath. "What sort of man are you?"

The Sacaen smirked, very slightly. "A bastard."

"Impossible." Kent tried and failed to keep the crossness out of his voice. "Chief Dayan is your father; he lives in your very village."

"No, I live in _his_," Rath muttered bitterly. "And I am no son of his."

"I do not understand. I have heard him call you 'son' before."

"Once you disown a body, you cannot simply change your mind and have him back!" Rath sat there for a moment, fuming, and then swiped at a wooden bowl by his side in a sudden surge of feeling. It flew to the other side of the ger and hit the furred wall hard. Kent was taken aback—he had never seen this much emotion from Rath before.

"I…don't understand," he said again, quietly. "Perhaps you would explain?"

"I don't see why not," Rath answered in a surly tone. "Everyone in this village already knows." He sighed before he began his tale, and was silent for so long that Kent almost prompted him to open his mouth again.

"I've told you before that…my father is a very superstitious man. When I was still a very young child, our tribe diviner saw a bad omen in the stars. He told my father that, to avoid a terrible fate, I'd have to leave the tribe. I would save them from…a dark flame." He spat into the fire, as if to dampen the tremble in his voice. "You can imagine how frightened I was. How I cried. But my father showed no mercy. He cast me out, to fend for myself. The other tribes nearby saw me wandering and merely laughed at me. I almost starved—"

He cut himself off abruptly. Kent realized his mouth had dropped open and had to close it again. He wanted to reach out for a moment and touch the nomad's arm, but couldn't do it, so his fingers tightened on the strings of the bracelet instead.

Eventually Rath continued. "I suppose…in light of Nergal, and that dragon…there was some truth to it. After that battle I had nowhere else to go, so I came…back. I wasn't sure what I had expected. I guess I wanted them to welcome me with open arms. And they _did_, Chief Dayan most of all. But somehow…it didn't feel good. Their faces smiled, then, but I could not forget the stone in their eyes when they cast me out." He sighed and looked at Kent, then. "You have never been an outcast, so I do not think I could make you understand. But I have learned that you cannot simply return, once you have left. No matter how kindly they treat you. Something has changed that can never be the same again."

"I do not think I could fully understand," Kent agreed, shaking his head. "But I am…sorry."

"Make the next knot," Rath said in reply.

Kent did. The awkward silence descended upon them again.

"Dinner!"

Guy burst into the tent with an explosion of sound, making both Kent and Rath jump.

"Come on, guys, dinner time! Don't you remember? It's the night of the North Star! We get to _feast!_"

Rath sighed heavily, got to his feet, and walked past Guy and out of the ger. Kent remained sitting where he was.

"Come on, Kent. You never eat with us. Won't you tonight?"

"I…I just…" Even though it was just Guy in the tend with him, Kent heard the ringing in his ears that always began when he got nervous in social situations. "I think that I should just stay here."

Guy smiled reassuringly. "Stop that. I know Chief Dayan is a little scary sometimes, but you shouldn't have to always hide in Rath's ger or on the outskirts of camp! You've been here weeks already and still haven't shared _one_ communal fire with us—"

"I intend to keep it that way," Kent interrupted softly.

"Aww…just because we knocked you out the first time you met us—"

"Guy," a voice said sharply from outside the ger. There was an "eep!", the small swordsman disappeared from view, and Rath strode back in purposefully. He glared down at Kent for a moment, who froze, before extending a hand and commanding one word:

"Come."

xXx

At first it was _incredibly_ awkward to be seated around the fire. Luckily Rath sat on one side of him and Guy on the other, but since Rath always sat at Dayan's right side Kent was only a spot away from the chieftan, which made him want to squirm. If he sat so close to Lord Hausen's side at a banquet the other nobles would boo him from the table!

Guy was right about the feast, however—besides the usual rabbit and horse meat, they had corn, rice, all sorts of berries, and a gigantic turkey. There was also bread and jam, something Kent hadn't seen in weeks: perhaps they'd sent men to barter for it in Bulgar in preparation for the night of the North Star. Kent still wasn't entirely sure what the celebration was about, but it must have been a good thing, for after dinner warriors in furs and feathers rode their horses into the camp and around the people and gers in intricate patterns. After a moment of confusion, Kent realized that it was a dance on horseback, and found that he couldn't look away.

"Enjoying it?" Guy asked him eagerly. He had to nod.

"Good!" a new voice said from beside Guy. Kent looked, expecting to find Lori, but saw a complete stranger instead—a young woman about his age. "I'm glad you've come to eat with us. From the way you were always skulking and hiding, I thought you were too stuck up to."

"I-I just didn't want to intrude." _Stuck-up?_ Kent was bewildered. _This woman is so forward._ "Lycians and Sacaens haven't always been too friendly."

The woman shrugged prettily. "I guess that's true. There are some people here who aren't glad you've come." She looked him dead in the eye then, smiling. "There are a lot of us who are happy about it, though. We're glad that someone wants to learn about our culture. And if you're going to learn—why not learn all the way?"

She was right, Kent realized. He had come all the way out here to make Lyn a bracelet—authentically—so that he could connect with her culture. He came not only to make her a gift, but to understand her heritage, to fully know this foreign part of her so that he could love her all the better for it. So shouldn't he know as much as he could?

"I'm Mae," the woman introduced herself, still smiling.

"I'm Kent." No _sir_. No _of Caelin_. It was an odd feeling, but not a bad one.

"

We heard about the marriage bracelet," said Mae. "Is it true that you're going to marry a Sacaen?"

"I…it is." He felt himself smile at the thought, a flush spreading up to his ears. _I am going to marry her!_ _I am!_

"A Lorca in Lycia? Guy has told me. What is she like?"

Rath stood abruptly and left, off to a circle of men that had congregated around a pipe. Guy rose too, smiling, and patted Kent on the back before he followed.

Once alone with Mae, it was much easier to speak. He told her everything about Lyn, it simply poured out of him since he missed her so much—her fight to save her grandfather, her poise in the throne, her beautiful eyes, her skill with sword fighting. How she went to Lord Hector of Ostia and ask that he kill her because she told him a lie, but he refused because he respected her so much. The woman—women, really, for Kent had gathered something of a crowd as he blabbered—oohed with delight.

Soon there were others, curious children and old men who wanted someone new to tell their stories to. He was afloat in conversation, in questions of Lycia, in tales of Sacae. Eventually Rath and Guy wandered back from the pipe, each looking very relaxed, which helped keep him from getting overwhelmed.

He felt a sharp yank on his hair then and whirled quickly, transitioning from a cross-legged sit in a crouch in one swift motion. His military training was wasted on a wobbling three-year-old, who looked at him with gigantic green eyes.

"Red hair!" the child said in wonder, before reaching up and tugging at his head again.

Most of the Sacaens burst into laughter, but Mae rushed over and pulled the boy away.

"Kale!" she scolded him before looking apologetically and explaining, "My son. He…acts before he thinks."

And who else did Kent know like that? He thought of a flirtatious man with sandy hair and green epaulets, and he had to smile.

"It's all right," he told her, sinking back down so that he was sitting cross-legged again. Mae sat beside him, Kale in her lap. "I'm sure he's just curious."

Immediately after he wondered if he should have just stayed silent, since all of the unattended children around him took that as an okay to begin climbing on his shoulders and playing with his hair. He froze, afraid to move, afraid to throw them off and hurt them, and all the Sacaens were laughing again. Luckily, parents came to rescue him, and the children grew bored by his lack of response—all but Kale, who had climbed into his lap and apparently had plans of staying there. Kent wasn't sure he liked all that attention, but the little hands on his face did make him feel oddly warm, as if they'd started a tiny glow inside of him.

As the moon journeyed through the sky, Kent finally found the courage to ask what the night of the North Star was all about. One of the elders began the tale—the story of North Star, one of the first Kutolah, who fell in love with the moon.

"A love story," Mae teased softly from beside him. "How appropriate, for you!"

The story ended semi-tragically, as the moon could never stay with the man. She had to keep moving across the sky to guide the herds of horses across the plains. However, she turned him into a star, so that every night she could visit him.

_My story turned out even better than this_, Kent thought, truly happy for the first time in weeks. He glanced down to see that Kale was fast asleep in his lap…and his legs were quickly falling asleep.

He didn't know what to do. He had never held a child. Could he scoop him underneath his arms and move him? Would that hurt the boy's arms? Would it wake him up? Would he cry if he was woken up? He froze again.

"Something the matter?" Mae whispered.

"Help me," he whispered back.

She laughed and picked up her son, slinging him over her shoulder. The boy didn't even stir. Kent was surprised.

"It looks like it's bedtime," she excused herself, rising. "I hear that Rath is teaching you, Kent, but a marriage bracelet is a hard task, and I expect that Rath is a hard teacher. If you have a question, you should come see me. I'm sure Kale would like to see you again, as well."

"I will come by," Kent managed to assure her. After she had gone, he lay back in the grass and looked at the moon for a while.

_I miss you, Lyndis. I miss you so deeply._

* * *

Their daily walk had ended, and the two were heading back inside Caerleon manor. A light snow had fallen the night before, and they had enjoyed crunching through it. Erk though that Priscilla's smile was even brighter than the sunlight reflecting off the frost.

The walk had begun as it always begun, with both of them heading toward the gardens, and they had meandered as they always meandered, in between the rows, left to right. But something had changed. The ending would not end as it had always ended. Erk could feel it in the pit of his stomach, which was fluttering hard. Priscilla had stopped, right before they were about to ascend the snow-dusted steps to the manor, and he stopped with her. For a long time they looked at each other and did not say a word.

"How are you?"

He asked the question first, finally breaking the polite barrier he had kept between them. He had tried to keep her distracted from Heath, to keep her smiling, but he knew how easily she could smile to make somebody else happy. He didn't want her façade. He had to know _her_.

She paused for an almost awkwardly long moment. "I…have a hard time, sometimes. It's very difficult."

Erk nodded, unsure of what to say. The silence stretched out again. He was thinking of bolting, of assuring her he'd be in his room if she wanted to talk and then running for it, but Serra's letters kept him rooted to the ground. "_If she's coming to you, then she needs you. For something. Maybe anything. If you want to get out of the 'friend circle,' you have to be available for that."_

"I…loved him," Priscilla said finally, making him look up in surprise. "You know that. But now…I have to believe that…if he broke his promise…perhaps it wasn't meant to be."

Her eyes had filled up with tears.

"Priscilla," said Erk, his heart aching.

She sniffled and wrung her hands together hard. "I'm sorry. I…cry too much. Maybe that's why he left."

"Don't say that."

"There must have been a reason!"

"Priscilla, please."

"I had to have done something wrong!"

"It's _not you_." Erk's voice came out so firmly that she looked startled, but he couldn't soften it. He believed himself too fervently. "You are wonderful, Priscilla. You're beautiful, and kind, and patient. Everyone loves you. Sain. Guy. Serra, even if she'd never admit it, even if she's told you the opposite. _Me_. If Heath broke his promise, then he wasn't worth your time. He didn't deserve to marry you and make the most important promise of all. You need someone loyal. Someone faithful. You should not ask that of love, you should _demand_ it. Because you deserve it."

Tears slipped from her wide eyes and down her cheeks. She opened her mouth but no words came out. Erk knew what he wanted to do, knew it more than anything. He took a step toward her and hesitated. Serra's words came to him again.

"_After all, are you a man? Or are you a bookworm?"_

I am a man, he told himself, and leaned forward and pressed his lips to her cheek, right where one of her tears had fallen. She took a deep, shaky breath at the kiss, but turned her head in his direction, tilted her chin up. Erk didn't need Serra's Love Guide to tell him what to do. He kissed her lips, softly, for a long time. Then he left her, for he sensed that she needed time alone to think. _He_ certainly did.

* * *

For two weeks he had been running, but he was out of places to hide.

Heath ducked low on Hyperion's back as the wyvern spun in mid-air, narrowly missing a javelin thrown at his back. From behind, he heard Vaida shriek to her inferiors:

"I said _hold your fire!_ We need this one alive!"

Hyperion abruptly dove, and when the platoon of wyvern riders behind him began to dive as well, he quickly shot back up and pumped his wings hard for the sky. Heath could feel the desperation surging through the beast, could feel his hammering heartbeat through the saddle and his muscles trembling beneath his legs. Each flap of his wings made Heath's own arms ache. The realization came slowly, grimly: they weren't going to get away.

Vaida had given him two days to get a head start, and he and Hyperion had flown as far and as fast as they could without crashing, but eventually they had to land and sleep, and when they woke again Vaida and her riders were against the horizon—little specks, but unmistakable. Hunting him. Relentlessly.

They had tried their best. They flew at night, Heath eating and sleeping in the saddle, Hyperion occasionally diving for a deer if he could find one and eating it as he flew, and then Heath would keep watch during the day while Hyperion landed and slept. It wasn't enough. One rider should have been able to escape an entire platoon, but these were _Bern's_ riders. They knew nothing but discipline, and were headed by none other than Commander Vaida. They would get their target or they would die trying—and he would know. He was one of them, once. Not dying during a failed mission meant dying in court, as an example to the others.

Each day they got closer and closer. Finally, this morning, Heath and Hyperion had tried to hide beneath a forest canopy. The dive was painful—they each received countless cuts from the whipping branches—and maneuvering a wyvern on foot through a forest was slow and painful, especially for Hyperion, who did not like close spaces. Still, Heath had hope that perhaps if they backtracked, Vaida and her troops would fly past. To his dismay, when they reached a small clearing, he saw them circling directly above. Apparently the wyverns still remembered Hyperion's scent from the old days. He cursed and kicked a tree so hard he had to limp back to the saddle.

They had shot back out through the top of the clearing, in a last-ditch attempt to gain some ground, but the idea was futile. Heath and Hyperion both were exhausted, and had discovered the hard way that it is much more fraying to be the hunted than to be the hunter, as they once were.

The wyvern and rider then felt a sudden updraft. Heath nudged his knees into his steed, knowing that Hyperion didn't need the direction, and they soared even higher, even farther away—

A blur of red dominated the right side of his vision, and a hand grabbed his reins. He turned to see that Vaida had caught the updraft too, glaring at him as her wyvern and Hyperion scrabbled at each other with their claws.

"Yield!" she commanded to him over the wind. Heath might have drawn his sword, then—even if it _was_ Vaida, his beloved leader—because getting captured meant…meant…

_I will never see Priscilla again_. His eyes widened as the realization finally hit him, and his hands stumbled for his sword, but Vaida's wyvern drew a long scratch across Hyperion's chest, and the blue wyvern cried out as his blood poured down through thousands of feet of air.

"Don't hurt him!" he yelled. "I submit!"

"You're a _fool!_" Vaida spat back, but kept a hard grip on his reins, and they landed together, circling slowly. The other riders landed some distance away—too far to hear them speaking, but close enough if Heath tried to escape again. Hyperion collapsed six feet from the ground and Heath rolled from the saddle, hurt foot throbbing. His wyvern was pressing his chest hard into the dirt to stop the bleeding, dark eyes rolling. Heath wobbled to him and stroked his head to calm him.

"Stupid whelp."

He looked up, shaking, to find Vaida standing over him, lance in hand, wyvern hulking just behind her. The sun was setting behind them, making her appear more like an otherworldly silhouette than a person. Heath could still see her eyes, though—they were glittering.

"You learned from me, didn't you?" she demanded. "You know how to fly, don't you? _Why didn't you get away_?"

Heath bowed his head. Every inch of him burned from the cuts sustained in the forest, and the anxiety of the past two weeks made him want to stretch out next to his wyvern and weep. But he did not. "You have always been more skilled than me, Commander Vaida."

A thought, however dim, came to him and made him smile. Vaida put her hands on her hips.

"And what do you have to smile about?"

"You spared Priscilla," Heath whispered, "kept her out of this. Didn't you? You all were chasing me, not interrogating her. Now you have me, and she is safe. For that, I thank you."

Vaida turned to her wyvern abruptly and rummaged through her saddlebag, finally hurling a roll of bandages at him. He managed to catch it, trying to get a glimpse of her face, but she wouldn't look at him.

"Patch up your wyvern," she told him, her voice oddly hoarse. "Clean your own wounds, too. It's a long flight back to Bern; we can't have you both bleeding to death before you get there. Not after all this."

Heath did as he was told. Before the sun had set, the wyvern riders of Bern—the soldiers, the renegades, and those a little in between—had set off for their country. Each of Hyperion's limbs were lashed with long ropes to four particularly burly wyverns, so he couldn't fly too far. Heath spent that night's cold journey huddled down, his head pressed to his wyvern's neck, trying to remember Priscilla's last kiss.

* * *

_A/N: HeathxPriscilla game ending, anyone? It came late, but it DID come! BUT WAIT, THERE'S MORE. (Unfortunately.) If you had time to leave a review, I'd really appreciate it…this motherlover took a lot of time to write. (Some of it was actually written years ago—can you tell the beginning from the end? I certainly hope so. If nothing has improved by now I have some serious things to worry about.) Thanks for reading! _


	15. Misreading

_Synopsis: In the last chapter, Priscilla is just able to catch Heath fleeing from Caerleon, although he refuses to explain why he was leaving, in case Vaida and her troops think to ask-or torture-her for answers. Erk takes it upon himself to care for her, since she is heartbroken and will hardly speak, but after Heath's abandonment her capacity to trust is incredibly weak. After much time, effort, and advice from Serra (and the happy news that Louise has had her baby), he is finally able to break through to her. When she tells him that she believes Heath left because she must have made a mistake, or is unloveable, Erk kisses her and she doesn't reject him. This confuses him, especially since Serra's diligent efforts to help him have been making him feel quite affectionate toward her lately. _

_Meanwhile, Eliwood, who had fought with his tactician over Ninian's memory, is approached by Sain and asked to forgive Della. They reconcile, and immediately afterward Della receives a letter from Erk, detailing how Heath abruptly left Priscilla with no sign of returning. Eliwood and Sain both suspect that she plans to leave Pherae and investigate, which Eliwood openly disapproves of, but she decides to wait for more news before she does anything. _

_Farina arrives in Ostia after being caught in a snow storm, fighting off what she recognizes as early hypothermia. Hector finds her and helps her out, realizing the next morning that he might be falling in love with her, and immediately tries to shunt the thought aside. _

_In Sacae, Kent finally joins Rath and his tribe for a communal dinner, where he starts to meet friends and learn more about Sacaean culture (and all the children become enamored with his red hair). His newest friends are a toddler named Kale and his mother, a young woman named Mae, whom he identifies with because her husband is absent just as he is absent from Lyndis. _

_At the end of the chapter, despite two weeks of running, Vaida finally catches Heath and Hyperion and brings them back to Bern, indirectly admitting that she'd kept Priscilla out of this. Despite being their captive and headed toward his death sentence, Heath is grateful._

* * *

_**Chapter 15—Misreading**_

Morning came as most mornings did. Sain had a green apple. He watched Lyn eat her bacon, Eliwood eat his porridge, and Della drown her waffles in syrup. He watched the page come in with the mail. He watched Lyn's beautiful, sharp eyes work out each word of her letter carefully. He watched Eliwood's softer eyes scan lines of his like a starving man swallows food. And he watched Della's eyes on her letter, absurdly blue, get bigger and bigger and bigger. He waited for the scream to follow, as it always did.

It never came.

Instead she passed the note to him. It was written in a slanted, spiky hand, and said simply,

_We found Heath. He is to be executed immediately following his trial._ _One month._

-_Vaida._

Sain found that he could not say anything either. He knew Heath had been a renegade, but not that Bern had still been searching for him—let alone that Vaida was part of it. And now they had caught him? That must have been why he had left Princess Priscilla…he was being hunted. He hadn't wanted her involved. The thought made Sain's heart hurt so much that he was almost sick. He put his half-eaten apple back down on the table and passed the note to Lyn. His liege lady was also silent at the news, paling beneath her tan, and handed the letter to Eliwood next.

When the lord had read it, he looked over it and at his tactician.

"What are you thinking?" he asked her.

Sain felt his jaw drop. He had wondered what Della was thinking a million times in all the months of their friendship, and never once had he thought to just come out and _ask_ her. The question was so simple, so honest, that it was perfect. And it trusted in an honest answer.

Della did not disappoint: "I have one month to get to Bern."

Sain expected Eliwood to groan or roll his eyes, but instead he merely set his lips into a thin line. "Do you, now. We will discuss this later."

"Better get my energy up, then." Keeping her eyes on his, boldly, defiantly, Della picked up a syrup-soaked chunk of waffle with her fork and stuffed it into her mouth.

_Dear Elimine. So much sugar._ Sain gazed out the window of the dining hall, up to the clouds, where only the wyverns of Heath and Vaida could reach. What would Priscilla do without her true love? What would Heath do, trapped in the fortress of Bern? And whatever did Della expect to do _about_ it?

One thing was for sure, Sain decided as he picked up his apple again and took a bite. Whatever it was, no matter if Lord Eliwood disapproved, Sain himself was going to help.

xXx

The kisses he gave her were swift, soft; on her cheeks and brow. He hadn't dared to kiss her on the mouth again. She never returned them but accepted his without complaint. Even without the advice of Serra's letters, Erk knew that Priscilla didn't love him, _couldn't_ love him with Heath so fresh in her heart. But she needed him all the same. She needed someone to hold her, to talk to her, to simply be there when she missed her fiancé so much she thought that she should die. She needed the warmth of another human being, and while Heath certainly would have hated the idea if he knew Erk was slipping her these kisses, the young mage himself understood. He had been by Priscilla's side throughout the entire war and saw how she could stay strong for people, saving lives and healing hurts, building trust brick by brick. The problem was that she hadn't saved any bricks for own foundation. She didn't know how to heal her own wounds.

_But I am here,_ Erk vowed to her every day, time and again. _I am here for you._

She had yet to take his word for it, but he knew he mustn't give up. Serra told him so.

Out in Caerleon, so far from everything familiar, Serra's letters had become quite precious to him. In the past weeks he had taken to keeping them right by his bedside so that he could reread her advice and friendly words just before bed, and if he woke in the night he found himself reaching first for the parchment, as if rubbing the edges would bring him the comfort of a childhood blanket.

He liked it when she wrote of Ostia, but not when she wrote of Hector or Oswin. She seemed to enjoy writing more about their faces and physiques than their general well-being, but Erk certainly didn't enjoy reading it. If he had to admit it to himself, he didn't like the idea of Serra admiring other men, although he couldn't place why.

His letters back to her were still jumbled. _I kissed her, Serra. For a long time. She didn't tell me no, but I've been too afraid to try again. I think the time just isn't right. Something didn't even feel quite right the first time. I don't know what I mean to say. What am I feeling?_

As he sent his latest update to Ostia with Farina, he hoped that his dear friend had the answer. He wasn't used to not having answers, and it was making him very uncomfortable.

xXx

"I'm going."

"You're not."

"I am."

"You're _not_."

Della sighed hard and leaned her elbows onto the white marble balcony. Eliwood glanced back toward his room, watching the linen curtains billow toward them with the evening wind. That same wind was making his tactician shiver hard, but she had wanted to go outside to have this conversation. She said one never knew who could be listening inside.

"What you're talking about is treason, Della. Heath is from Bern and he deserted their army. It pains me as much as you do to hear it, but whatever Bern does with him is not our concern. Getting involved could place Lycia directly in the path of war!"

"I'm not a Lycian," she said stubbornly. "So how could it?"

"Do you even remember the last time we were in that fortress?" Eliwood passed a hand through his hair, his nerves jumping. "Haven't you had enough of the intrigue?"

"Shnopes. At least, not according to Matthew." The tactician pulled a folded piece of parchment from the sleeve of her green tunic and held it out to him.

Eliwood just gaped, staring at her sleeve. "How do you _do_ that?"

She didn't answer, waving the letter under his nose instead. He took it from her and unfolded it to find a report from Matthew—one that was clearly intended for Hector's eyes.

"How did you get this," he demanded.

"Matthew sent it to me," said Della with a shrug as she took back her letter and stuffed it back into her sleeve. "I think it's a copy since he wrote it on used parchment, you can see the palimpsest on the recto here, and I assume Hector has the original. He stationed Matthew in Bern a while back; apparently some weird stuff is going down with Zephiel. He looked like a cute kid to me, but you never know!"

"You expect me to believe that Hector's spy and the leader of Bern's dracoknights both wrote to you about this? I didn't even know that you and Vaida had ever spoken to each other in your lives!"

"Well duh," said Della. "Why wouldn't I talk to somebody brave enough to call Wallace a teapot?"

"But what do they think that _you_ can do about it? You're just…just a girl!"

"Say that one more time and I will kick you right in the shin," said Della calmly. "Anyway, I'd better get to bed. My own bed. I don't have any time to waste if there's only a month until the execution, so I'm leaving at dawn."

"_Dawn?"_

"Did I st-stutter?"

"Della," Eliwood pleaded, "think about what you're saying. There's nothing you can do in Bern; and besides, you're needed here." He tried to put some authority into his voice, the way his father used to. "You're my tactician and I find no reason for you to go."

"That's because you don't reason. You have no reason. You're an unreasonable, pre-Humanist, Dark Age unreasoner."

Eliwood pinched the bridge of his nose. "_I'm_ being unreasonable? You're the one who's convinced she can get all the way to Bern, inside their nearly-impregnable fortress, and out with a war criminal—alone!"

"Oh, I won't be alone." She seemed surprised. "Sain is coming, too."

Eliwood's mouth opened, and for a moment he could do nothing but blink. "He's not."

"He is!"

"He's _not_!"

"Por qué no?" asked the tactician crossly. "You just said I can't go alone! So why can't I go with Sain?"

_That scoundrel, alone on the road with you?_ The thought made Eliwood's blood burn. "This is nonsense. Sir Sain isn't going anywhere because _you're_ not going anywhere."

"I'd like to see you stop me. I'm already packed."

"Why is this _your_ duty?" he gripped the balcony tightly. "Answer me this, at least. I know you want to bring Heath back to Priscilla—even if that's absolutely none of your business—but even before he was caught, he _left_ her, Della. What could you possibly do about that?"

"You don't think his capture had anything to do with why he left?" she demanded. "If he knew they were coming, it would have put Priscilla in danger for harboring a fugitive. He was never really safe there. You know as well as I do that Bern's dracoknights have the legal power to chase one of their own anywhere, even into other countries. They're like the flippin' Canadian Mounties. With _wyverns_!"

He shook his head as if that would dispel her nonsense. "Della. _Please_. I know your intentions are noble, but—"

"Noble intentions are not enough to make up for levels of wasted time," she cut him off sharply. "I must _act,_ as I did not do earlier. Things could have turned out differently if I'd only foreseen…"

"Well?" Her vaguery irked him.

"I can't even make you understand, Eliwood. Support conversations, endings…I took too long to figure it out. I took too long to realize that this isn't just a game, this is much more than a literal _game_. All of your futures were at stake all along. And I've botched up enough of them already."

"Why are you constantly blaming yourself?" He exhaled hard in frustration. "Every man is in charge of his own future. They control that, not you! And still you're obsessed with solving the problems of everyone else, and why? For what? How could you possibly think that the weight of the entire cog of fate is yours to bear alone?"

"Because I'm the player, it _is_ mine to bear, and I _am_ alone!"

"You're _not_ alone!" he said fiercely, reaching out to grab her shoulders, forcing her to look at him. He could feel his own eyes blazing as he stared into her face. _There's so much you don't share with me; so much you say that I don't understand and you won't explain. Why won't you ever tell me? Am I so untrustworthy? _

Her eyes were defiant in response. "Well, I _should_ be alone."

"No, you shouldn't!"

"Come off it!" She grabbed his hands and flung them from her shoulders. He felt the gesture like a slap in the face. "I must do this by myself. You couldn't handle it, _no one_ could handle it if I told you what was really happening. That some teenage Mary-Sue with a _gameboy_ could…" She cut herself off and stuck her hand into her pocket, grabbing on to something there. She had started to do that more and more often, Eliwood noticed, but his curiosity was dispelled when she looked up at him with her gigantic eyes. Eyes that, this time, seemed too large in her face. "I thought you weren't real. For the longest time, I fought it. And deep in my heart, I still know it. But the longer I'm here, the harder it is to believe."

She looked so frightened, so confused, so absolutely _mad_ that he felt it himself. He wanted to grab her face in his hands and kiss the madness away, silence her ramblings, keep her close. It was a desperate feeling and a desperate ploy, but some instinct deep within him knew that it would work.

But he didn't move. She was bent on leaving. He had made a promise to Ninian. And the desire to kiss her passed so suddenly that it left him feeling like he might be sick.

"We're so young," he said instead. "We have our whole lives to figure out what we believe." _Your life will be an adventure. Mine will be empty, ice-cold like the dragon I slew. _"I can assure you that I'm real, however. Quite real. If I recall, you figured that out for yourself that day in the armoury."

Her hands on his chest; the tinge of her cheeks. She asked him if he was imaginary or if she was. Back then he'd had no idea what she meant. He was still confused, but at least now he had a guess: _which one of us is living, and which one lives to serve the other?_

Eliwood sighed deeply. It was too complicated to guess at. He needed her for more reasons than he could say, but he knew she had her reasons for staying by him as well. She could have left much earlier, and she didn't.

Until now.

"You can't go," he said again. "You and Sir Sain will both be killed. I won't let you."

"You don't trust me."

"You're right."

"Oh, please. Who's the master tactician, here?"

"The master tactician has no sense of self-preservation." He drew his lips tight at the thought of the bloody tree on the Dread Isle, the bandits that made Lyn's steady legs quiver with fear and rage, the fire dragons that burst forth from their gate with roars that singed their ears. Della had not blinked at any horror. That had saved them against Nergal's schemes, when their trials were unavoidable, but he wouldn't allow her to fling herself into a new one needlessly. "Heath is a war criminal. If you save him, you commit an act of war."

"I commit an act of love."

Hector, in their youth, had picked up an awful peasant's habit of spitting whenever he heard something he considered foolish. Eliwood had never understood this sentiment until this moment. He refrained but stared down into the garden below, wondering where his liquid disgust would land, and after a moment he was ashamed of himself.

_I envy Heath. Even though he is as far as he could be from Priscilla in this world, at least he is in this world. People believe they can be reunited. There is no such hope for me. All I have is my tactician—and she's the one who wants to leave to reunite them!_

As if sensing his thoughts, Della reached over and covered his hand, still clutching the railing, with her own. "Don't worry. If something bad happens, I'll just use the soft restart. I'll reappear right on this balcony like nothing ever happened."

"You're mad," he whispered. "You're mad. I forbid you to go."

She took her hand away. Her eyes were blank. But when she spoke, she said,

"As my lord commands."

He hesitated before putting an arm around her shoulder, hoping to guide her inside. "Let's hasten to bed, then. There is no sense in staying up any longer."

"You're right," she said, ducking out from under his arm, "but I need to sleep in my own room, tonight."

His lips parted, but he had no words to say. What of his recurring nightmares, and what of her own terrors, the ones she never spoke that kept her against him all night? He couldn't bring himself to ask. He could tell he'd asked too much of her already.

xXx

Sain paced the gloamy halls of castle Pherae. He had just seen Lyn off to her chambers for the night. She was surprisingly quiet, but neither of them needed to discuss the reason why.

Kent. She had been without him for far too long, and it was starting to wear on her. She had begun to worry. How did Sain know? Because he felt the same way, himself.

He worried about what Lyn would do without him, when he left with Della at dawn. She had approved the plan, trusting his judgment, but he still felt terrible leaving her. He was supposed to guard her in Kent's stead, for Elimine's sake. Just as Della was supposed to be advising Eliwood.

But the two were on an adventure of their own, it seemed. Deep down, Sain had always suspected that it would happen. Della could never be tethered to one place, and he was beginning to wonder if perhaps he was cut from the same cloth. Caelin did not hold the same appeal to him that it always did. His vows still mattered, and being a knight would _always_ matter, but for the first time the thought crossed his mind of becoming a knight-errant. That way he wouldn't have to be tied down. But he would dwell on that later, after Kent was back, and after his boon companion and his liege had settled down together. For now, all Sain knew was that it was high time he left Pherae; his feet were starting to itch.

The only regret that he had in leaving was that he never got the chance to give Lord Eliwood the nudge that he needed to court Della; he never got to deliver the line that would push him over the edge. Of course, the only plan Sain had been able to think of was trying to make Eliwood jealous somehow, and that hadn't seemed extremely wise, but he supposed he didn't have to dwell on it any longer. If the young lord and his tactician wanted to ruin a perfectly good budding romance by completely ignoring it, that was their problem. Sain had washed his hands clean of them.

The moment he spotted Lord Eliwood rounding the corner, however, he changed his mind.

When the two men saw each other, for a moment they merely stood. Sain wasn't sure what to say, so he bowed instead. When he rose, he saw that Eliwood's eyebrows had slanted up, though whether from sorrow or confusion, the knight couldn't tell.

"I'm not sure if Della has told you," Eliwood said, breaking the awkward silence, "but she has decided not to leave, tomorrow."

Sain blinked. "She has? Will milord tell me why?"

"I asked her to stay. I didn't want her risking her life or yours."

"She had a noble plan, milord. Lady Lyndis approved."

"Lyndis is distracted."

Sain would have been insulted on behalf of his lady, were it not for the gentleness that crept into Eliwood's voice. The young lord understood love and separation, and it was clear that he did not judge Lyndis in the slightest. Sain himself assumed that she may have been distracted when she approved Della's plan, but she may simply have believed what Sain believed: that everything was more complicated and secure than merely charging into Bern, but Della didn't feel it was wise to disclose her entire plan yet. Not even to Sain.

But then, Sain had plans of his own that he wasn't telling _her_. And he would begin tonight. She could thank him later.

"You were wise to put a stop to this, then, Lord Eliwood. A girl alone on the road could run into quite a bit of trouble. Not that I would ever let her be alone, of course. I assure you, I would have kept her as close as possible."

He tried to slide his voice at the end, imagining how oily Eirk of Laus always sounded when he spoke. _I'm going to get in trouble for this, so I might as well have fun doing it._

Eliwood's reaction was more muted than Sain would have liked: only a raised eyebrow. "Yes, I'm sure you would have taken very good care of her."

"Caring is something they say that I'm good at, m'lord."

"They?"

"The women, m'lord. Here, and in Caelin, and during the war, too."

Even if his words were innocent, he kept his tone so rich with double-meaning that this time Eliwood's hand strayed to his hip, as if he still expected his rapier to be there. "With all that experience, then, sir, I'm sure you'd be able to keep all hands from touching a hair on her head. _Any_ hands."

"Oh, of course." Sain glanced into Eliwood's eyes, gauging the lord's reaction. "…But I notice my lord didn't say anything about lips."

_That's it! There's no going back now! Oh, the things I do for love._ Another man might have exclaimed or sputtered or even blushed at Sain's boldness, but Eliwood did not even move, save to compress his lips into a thin, pale line.

"Are you drunk?" he asked.

"Could be, m'lord."

"All the more reason for this little expedition to be cancelled," he said. "You are dismissed."

"You can't cancel it, Lord Eliwood!"

"I believe I already have."

"But…" And here Sain paused, the better to deliver his most dramatic blow: "when shall I ever find her alone again, so that I might confess my love to her?"

Eliwood shook his head as if he couldn't even believe what was happening. "So you intend to court her, then."

"Yes, milord. If she'll have me."

"I figured as much."

That surprised Sain. He fought to keep his face composed as Eliwood continued, "You both are very close. Anyone can see it. For that, I cannot blame you. She is a joy to have around, and to be close to."

Sain struggled not to snort. _I wouldn't say that!_

Eliwood's eyes took on some of their fire then, glinting as they used to when he spoke to rally the army. "But you are a fool, sir, if you think that I would have allowed you to travel with her unaccompanied by a chaperone. If you must declare your feelings, you should do it where she is comfortable, and do it with some decency."

This wasn't working at all. Eliwood had just accepted Sain's interest in his tactician? And then _told him how to confess his love most honourably_? Sain decided that drastic times called for drastic measures. So he blurted out,

"But that would ruin the romance!"

Eliwood looked appalled. "Romance? You will not be _romancing_ anybody until she has consented."

Sain tried to arrange his face into an innocent expression. "What if she wanted to romance me?"

"Sh-she wouldn't!"

_A stutter! We're almost there._ "She's more woman than she is girl now, my lord; surely you must have noticed. And we've always been close. Even without speaking of love she's demanded my attentions in the stables, in the kitchens, even on the road right after the war—"

"You're lying," said Eliwood suddenly. "She's never kissed a man before. She couldn't have; the man she used to love spurned her. Besides, even if she hadn't told me that, you can still see it in her eyes when—"

_When you get close enough to kiss her._ Eliwood had cut himself off, and Sain knew better than to speak the words, but they hung in the air between them both anyway.

"Why did you lie?" Eliwood asked. He didn't sound angry but confused, so confused that it caused him pain. "Why would you lie about that to me?"

Sain ducked his head and thought about Kent never coming back, about receiving the letter years from now from Bulgar that considered him dead, about holding Lyn while she wept and screamed over a perfect love that could no longer be. When he looked back up, he felt tears swimming in his eyes. _Perfect._

"It's because she cares for _you,_ my lord," he said softly. "I've loved her since I met her, loved her all this time, but she's only had eyes for you. She came here with you, back to Pherae. And I know you say she's never kissed a man, but…I know she spends her nights with you! You hide it well, but I know. What is her skin like? What is it like to simply hold her for hours?"

"You're mistaken!" sputtered Eliwood. _Now_ he was blushing, finally. "She—I—nothing ever happens!"

"You're kind to let me believe it," Sain told him, "but I am no fool. She has chosen you. And I can not so much as touch her, knowing that, for even our friendship is so precious to me that I don't want to risk it. You have nothing to fear from me, my lord. It's just that for a moment I was so overcome with jealousy that…I didn't want you to know that. You must forgive me." He bowed again, low and long, not rising until Eliwood choked out,

"No, you must understand—"

"Please help me to, because I don't. You don't even look angry. Why not? You know that I would have tried to woo her as soon as we left. It pains me to admit it, but it's true! Does that not bother you? Perhaps you are just so confident in your love—"

"Of course it bothers me!" the young lord confessed in a heated rush. "We're not in love, but even if we were, only a dastard of a man would try to ruin that!"

_For the time being, then, I shall think of you as a dastard._ "I thought that it might be my only chance to tell her my feelings. If you hadn't spoken first, I might have done it a long time ago. She seemed so…lonely. Perhaps she would be willing to give any sort of love a try."

That struck a chord with Eliwood, Sain could see. Because Eliwood _hadn't_ spoken first. But perhaps if he had a chance to do it before Sain "tried"…

"That is fair," said Eliwood then, crushing Sain a second time. "If you love her, you deserve to discuss the matter with her."

"But milord, you—"

"I am not courting her!" said Eliwood impatiently. "I'm ruling a canton; I haven't the time to think about anything like that. If you want her to be yours then you should ask her, before she gets away." _You would know what that's like, wouldn't you, Lord Eliwood. _"I'm sure you'll see her in the morning. Cheer her up for me, please. She's upset that she isn't leaving tomorrow. But if you can make her happy…"

"Will it make things easier for milord?"

"Yes," said Eliwood after a soft sigh. "As long as she is happy, I'll be happy too."

He didn't look happy. He looked miserable. Sain had one last idea.

"You are gracious, my lord," he said, and sank into a low bow. His next words were slow and deliberate: "I will not squander this opportunity to speak with her. I am not a coward, nor am I the sort of man who would accept the comfort of a woman's love without offering anything in return. I beg your leave."

When he walked past Eliwood, the young lord's jaw was slack. For a moment he thought he might make it away scot-free, but then Eliwood cried,

"Sir Sain!"

Sain turned to find marquess Pherae glowering at him in the torchlight, his right hand clenched into a tight fist at his side.

"Surely you did not think I meant to slight you, milord," he said. "You yourself said that you were not interested in her."

Eliwood met his gaze for a long moment before shutting his eyes, turning away, and walking off. After a slight pause, Sain went his own way. He decided that his ploy had gone well, all things considered. He'd made himself an enemy of Eliwood, that much was for sure, but he'd also given the lord something to think about—not quickly enough, however, for a green blur of a figure slung itself around the corner and practically ran into him.

"Della!"

"Watch where you're going, Sain!" she said. He rolled his eyes while she looked about. "Is Eliwood around?"

"No, but it's funny you should mention—"

"Good. I told him we weren't leaving tomorrow, but we absolutely are. Before dawn, before anyone catches us. And we're bringing Marcus; it seems pretty fool-proof."

Sain had so many questions he wasn't sure which to ask first. "Didn't you already tell Lord Eliwood that we wouldn't leave?"

"No. I said 'as my lord commands.'"

"Don't you know anything of honour?! Those words swear you to obey!"

"They do not!" she said indignantly. "I didn't say I'd obey, I was just acknowledging that he had commanded something. That doesn't mean I have to _listen!" _

Sain fought the urge to slam his head into the wall. "We're going to be in so much trouble."

"We? I'm the only one word-playing around here, mister."

"Now might be a good time to correct you—"

"There's never a good time for that," said Della, dragging his wrist and pulling him off in the direction of the barracks. "Now come on; we're going to go recruit Marcus."

"That's impossible! Marcus would never leave without Lord Eliwood's consent!"

"I'll make him an offer he can't refuse," said Della in a thick accent Sain had never heard before. "I'm sure he'd hate finding his horse's head in his bed in the morning!"

Sain pulled her to a stop. "Della. You wouldn't dare kill his destrier. They are expensive and their heads are very heavy in any case."

"Nobody understands my jokes around here," she said, hurt. "Look, I can convince him that leaving is for Eliwood's benefit. He'll go if I can make him see that; he'll do anything."

"And how, exactly, does this benefit him?"

"Imagine the sweet hacks, Sain! If we can get to Bern and back, is there any limit to where we can go? The Dread Isle? The Dragon's Gate?" Her blue eyes were shining like they used to before great battles, disconcertingly excited for the danger ahead.

"You are mad," he told her, very sincerely.

"Everyone's telling me that today! I'm not crazy, I'm a leet haxxor."

"Definitely mad."

He let her pull him to Marcus anyway.

xXx

One night Priscilla knocked on Erk's door late at night, and by the time she left he'd decided that life had become entirely too complicated.

The stress he felt was unprecedented. Despite sleepless nights studying for Pent's abominably hard exams, the constant pressure he felt to live up to his master's expectations despite his wife's assurances that he was more son to them than apprentice, and even the uncertain thread his life had hung upon in war, nothing had rocked his nerves so severely. He was good with dealing with pressure. He _thrived_ on it. This was different.

He'd been preparing for bed when she came to him, and had taken off his doublet and was just in his thin shirtsleeves. When he saw her he was embarrassed, knowing she could see the lines of his arms through his shirt and knowing further that he was scrawny compared to Heath—or any man, really. She didn't seem to notice or care, and gripped them hard while she pressed her lips to his. The kiss lasted a long time, and when she felt his back or palmed his face or buried her hand in his hair, he took the same liberties.

"I'm sorry," she whispered afterward. "It's just so hard to fall asleep these days. I'm awake, feeling alone."

"I'd like to kiss you more often," he whispered back. "Would that be all right with you?"

She hesitated, and his heart stopped. It didn't start again until a long moment after she'd said yes. Her face, her body language, the tone of her voice, everything told him yes. Deep inside, in his bones, he felt the resonation of _no_. He couldn't place why. Perhaps it was in the way she wouldn't meet his eyes.

The past few days he'd caught himself whiling away long moments longing for Serra. She had been an annoyance as long as he had known her, but at least she was _stable_. He could always tell what she was thinking; what she wanted and didn't want. Her letters to him had been getting shorter and shorter, and had none of her usual pep, which made him wonder if perhaps she was losing interest in him. The thought hurt. He'd long ago assumed that her childish crush on him had disappeared, much to his relief, but to lose her friendship seemed unbearable.

Once Priscilla had gone, Erk found himself unable to sleep. His heart beat so fast that he was up until dawn reading, first Serra's old letters and then books on anything he could find. Despite how wonderful Priscilla's kiss had felt, something was still wrong, and it was only when the sun rose that he could place it: he gave every word, every caress, every gesture of affection because he loved her.

She was not accepting them for the same reason.

xXx

Eliwood woke in the night with a jolt, unsure as to why.

_Della kicked open the stable door with unnecessary force._

He wasn't too cold or too hot, he wasn't hungry or thirsty, and he couldn't remember having a nightmare despite the lack of his tactician's presence. Still, he stretched out a hand to the other side of his bed and grabbed a fistful of cool sheets, and his heart began to hammer.

"_Do you even know how to saddle a horse?" Sain asked her. "Or ride one?" He shook his head at her response—"I'll figure it out!"—and moved to help her._

She's not here, he told himself. She told me she wouldn't be. She's in her own room. Calm down. Calm down.

_They galloped to the main gates, shut tight this late at night, but the glint of the paladin Marcus's helmet prompted the watchmen to open them without question. _

He couldn't calm himself. As wide awake as if it were noon, he slid out of bed and made quickly for her chamber. He promised himself that he would only crack open the door and take a peek to assure himself that nothing was amiss, but as he pressed his way in he felt he was betraying her trust.

"_He'll never trust me again," said Della into her horse's mane. Sain was sure she meant it for the air's ears only, but he overheard her anyway. _

Her bed was empty. Her room was still. He ran to the kitchens—dark. The library—silent. Back to his room and out to his balcony and—

_Beyond the gates, there was nothing but farms and fields. They were free. _

He saw three horses—one so white it was unmistakably _his_—galloping off, out under the gate and into the countryside.

_We are in trouble, thought Sain, wind in his hair. Greater trouble than ever. And I'm not even sorry. _

She said he'd commanded, he realized then, but she didn't say she'd obey! He cried her name to the horizon, and knew before it left his lips that it wouldn't reach her. Was Sain with her? Who was the third rider? Was she eloping? Was she off to Bern after all?

Shaken, he collapsed into a chair in his room and sat in the dark, unable to fall back asleep. When the first rays of sunlight touched his cheek he rose and went in search of Lyndis.

xXx

Kent's days were spent weaving, but his nights had become much more important. At the insistence of Guy and his mother Lori, he'd begun to join the Sacaeans at their fire each night instead of hiding in Rath's tent. He began to ask to hear stories and legends, at first assuming he'd be an imposition, and was instead surprised with how eager everyone was to share with him. They made him try new foods, invited them into their gers to show them the murals they'd painted on the walls, taught him how to tan horsehide and how to read directions in the stars. He spent a lot of time with his new friend Mae and her son Kale, mostly because her husband was often out hunting and he recognized the loneliness on her face. They had been married a few years, but he could see that the joy of being newlyweds had yet to leave them. He was sure the same would happen to him when he finally presented his bracelet to Lyn: he would be too happy to stand it.

Kale and the other children especially seemed to take to him. They were always trying to climb into his lap and touch his hair, and after a while he learned that they weren't as fragile as they seemed. They could be tossed in the air and slung over shoulders and seemed to like all of it quite a bit. He was still uncomfortable standing and holding them, and it still made him nervous when they tugged at him, for he was never sure how to respond, but they never seemed to like him any less.

One night, however, after most of the tribe had gone to sleep and Kent remained, lying in the grass alongside Guy as Lori put the fire out, he was made uncomfortable for the first time in days. Guy turned his way and asked,

"So how many children are you and Lady Lyn going to have?"

Kent almost choked on his own spit and had to sit up, fumbling for an answer. "I, uh, I…we…haven't discussed it."

"What?" Lori asked from the fire pit. "That is foolish. If you are doing the act of making children, you should know if you each desire a child or if you should wait."

"We're not doing any act!" Kent protested, feeling himself blush so hard that his ears burned.

"Why not? You both are engaged, are you not?"

It was Guy's turn to sit up, looking embarrassed. "Uh, Ma, it's a little different in Lycia. Nobody shares a bed until after they're married, and even then nobody really talks about it." He looked to Kent and added, "I'm sorry. I didn't think about it. Here it's normal to start all that as soon as both parties have agreed to be married. That way they could have a baby right away, if they wanted."

Kent's ears were still stinging. It was so difficult to think about children with Lyn—real, warm, crawling children like Kale—without first imagining Lyn's legs, her skin, the half-lidded eyes she made at him when she wanted him alone. They hadn't made love yet, and he'd been doing his best not to think about it. His self-control where she was concerned was abysmal, he'd learned. One embarrassingly reckless kiss on his part had started their whole romance in the first place.

"It is a good thing to discuss before marriage, too," said Lori. "What if you desire three children but she only desires two? Or if she wants many children but you don't want any?"

"You should compromise for children," Guy whispered conspiratorially. "Otherwise it's hard to share a bed."

"I kn-know how it works!" If Sain were here, he knew, he would have laughed himself silly and insisted the opposite. _Commander Kent still thinks babes are dropped from the sky by birds!_

"But you've never done it, though?" asked Guy.

"Of course not!"

Guy flopped back into the grass and sighed. "Me neither. I used to want to ask Priscilla to marry me, isn't that crazy? She always had eyes for Heath, though, so I didn't even try. She was a good friend. I wonder how she's doing?"

Kent laid back down and wondered the same about Sain, about Florina, about Wil and Wallace. Most of all he wondered for Lyndis, and for once didn't bother to stifle the longing that was stirring in his blood. She wasn't around to be too forward with; he could yearn as much as he liked. He fell asleep contemplating their wedding night and dreamed more of the same, he assumed, for he woke blissfully happy, if unable to recall anything in particular. _I'm almost done, Lyndis. Then I will return to you._

xXx

Lyn awoke long before dawn, incredibly lonely.

She'd never slept with Kent at her side, not the whole night through, but she'd never longed for such a privilege more in her life. She stroked the cold sheets on the far side of the bed, closed her eyes again, and allowed herself to miss him in the way she'd tried to hold at bay: so fiercely that it brought tears in her eyes. She hoped she would drift off again, perhaps to dream of him, but she soon had to admit that sleep had left her for the night. After she'd pushed herself out of bed and gotten dressed, she wanted to go to Sain's room and take solace in the fact that he missed Kent as sorely as she did, until she remembered that she'd allowed him to ride to Bern. _That man,_ she decided as she opened the drapes with a huge sigh, hoping the rising sun would cheer her, _is going to become a knight-errant. And neither Kent nor I will be able to stop him._

Eventually the sunlight did its work, as did the thought of a good spar. It had been too long since she'd held a sword and her muscles ached with want of use. She had just opened her door to go find Eliwood and ask if he'd be her partner, only to find that the lord of Pherae was already standing in her doorway, one hand raised as if about to knock.

"Eliwood," she said, taking in the dark rings under his eyes.

"Good morning, Lyndis."

"You look terrible."

"Oh, thank you," he said, but sounded too tired to come across as truly sarcastic. She sighed and ushered him in, leaving the door open.

"What's the matter?"

"She's gone." He was running his fingers through his hair, a nervous habit only she knew he shared with Kent. The thought made her heart ache again.

"Who's gone? Della? Of course she's gone. I gave Sain permission just last night."

"Whereas I forbade my tactician."

Lyn sighed and rubbed her cheek for a moment. "You should have known better."

"She should have _listened_ to me!"

"She won't and you know it. Neither will Sain, really."

"No, not that scoundrel!"

"Eliwood! Why would you say a thing like that?"

"I gave a direct order! I—!"

Lyn cut him off by putting her arms around him and guiding him to the window. "Look at everything you control. Look at Pherae."

"Lyn—"

"_Look_, Eliwood!" He took a deep breath and obeyed, and she did not speak until she felt his shoulders start to relax beneath her hands. "You are the marquess. You control everything here. But you should know that people's hearts are beyond anyone's orders. I know you think you know what's best, but they had different ideas."

"But it…it's painful, in its own way."

"Yes, but if they believe it is their duty to go to Bern, then they must."

"Bern? They didn't go to Bern," he whispered, and his voice trembled, although when she glanced worriedly to his blue eyes she found them dry. "Lyndis…I think they've eloped."

"What?" Lyn felt like she'd been hit over the head with Hector's axe.

"He told me that he wouldn't squander his opportunity, that he wouldn't accept a gift without giving in return, that—"

"Eliwood, you're not making any sense."

"He loves her!" said Eliwood, gesturing sharply to the main gate to his castle. "He told me so last night, after I tried to cancel the whole expedition! He said he'd loved her since he met her, and that's been at least two years, now! He wanted to tell her when they were alone on the road. I forbade that too; insisted he tell her where she'd feel safe denying him…if she even wanted to. How am I to know? They're so close. He must have told her last night, and this morning…"

Lyn pressed her forehead to the windowpane and squinted hard at the horizon, remembering the Green Lance's similar antagonisms in Ostia. He'd pretended to advance upon Farina to make Hector realize how he cared for her, and received a good punch in the face for his antics, which in Lyn's opinion was no less than he deserved. Still, what had he said when she reprimanded him, as they rode to Pherae? _My lady, surely you know that there are some things worth taking a blow for? I would do it all again, too, if it was needed._

"Blast you, Sain," she muttered under her breath. Eliwood didn't hear her, for he had already turned his back to the window.

"At any rate," he said, "they're gone. I'm glad they both got what they wanted." He sounded sincere, Lyn noticed, but sad, too. "I had just hoped that she would stay a little while longer. Until I had figured things out."

Lyn turned to face Eliwood's back and leaned against the window, folding her arms, trying to keep her smile from twisting knowingly. "So you do care for her."

"I care for you. I care for Hector."

"You know what I mean."

"It's…difficult to say." He turned to face her, then, and the shadows under his eyes looked darker than ever. "The last thing Ninian said to me, before she entered the Dragon's Gate, was to ask me not to forget her. This is the most painful oath I've ever taken. I loved her more than life and breath, Lyndis, and to think about her, knowing I will never see her again, is unbearable. But I must keep her memory, as she asked me to, even if it causes me pain, because the only thing worse than not having her is letting her go. Della is dear to me, and makes me smile as I thought I never would again, but…she is no life and breath. And if I should fall for her, I will have betrayed Ninian. Is this how I should honour her? By chasing after the girl who tried to keep us _together_ the entire war? Frankly, I am ashamed of myself for making my affection so known that you would ask about it."

"It was just something Hector and I had noticed, during the ball at the end of the summer," said Lyn with a shrug. "You wouldn't dance, and we both knew it was because it reminded you so strongly of Ninian. We couldn't blame you, and we were sad for you. But somehow, when Della asked you to, you said yes."

"As I said, she makes me forget," he said, his mouth pulled tight. "Originally I enjoyed the feeling. Now I know better."

Lyn took a deep breath instead of replying. She wanted to tell him to stop torturing himself, to assure him that Ninian surely hadn't meant for this to happen when she'd asked him what she did. He'd always been a stickler for rules and vows, and hated nothing more than a broken one, but she couldn't tell him that he was being too serious. If anything ever happened to Kent, she knew she would feel the same. She would grasp at every memory of him and fight anything that wanted her to move on.

Eliwood passed a hand through his hair again. "I suppose the problem has been solved for me, if she has run away with Sain."

"Yeah, about that," said Lyn. "You know how Sain is with women. I doubt he has any interest in Della at all." _And by that I mean I'm sure of it._

"He almost wept when I took away his chance to tell her so."

_I'll admit, that's a little impressive._ "Eliwood, think about it. If he's loved her for so long, why didn't he tell her sooner?"

The young lord blushed, making Lyn raise an eyebrow. "He, er, he thought I was already courting her."

"That doesn't make sense. I'm sure Hector and I were the only ones who had even considered it. There's nothing you both do that normal friends wouldn't do."

"I don't know about that." Eliwood's flush spread to his neck. Lyn had never seen him this flustered.

"What is it? You can tell me."

"No," he said with a laugh, "I think you are the _last_ person I could tell."

"Tell me _now_."

He raised his hands placatingly under her gaze. "You must understand, her honour was never at stake—"

"What?"

"It was all her idea, although I should have said no, and I tried, but—"

"Eliwood, you're making me nervous."

"She's been sleeping in my bed," he blurted, and covered his eyes with a hand as if afraid to face her. "This whole time. I'd been having nightmares, reliving the day I killed Ninian over and over, and she offered to stay with me. She said she was in love once, so she understands what that loss feels like—and she wasn't separated by fate, either, she was rejected. No one can take that lightly. Can you blame her for wanting to make me feel better? To stay, and be needed by someone? Can you blame me for letting her? For needing her?"

_There are so many people I need to strangle today._ Lyn sighed heavily before admitting, "No, I can't."

"Sir Sain saw us, early one morning, and he assumed the worst."

"This is ridiculous."

"I'm aware!" Eliwood mussed his hair again, touched his face, fidgeted with his collar. Lyn lifted his cape away from his form, ignoring his questioning look, to examine the line of his waist. Already slender, it had taken him a long while to gain back the weight and muscle he'd lost when he'd been sick. She could see that he was losing it all again. She would hate to move on from Kent if she ever had to, she might fence until her muscles tore or lie still until they melted to fat, but after her period of mourning she would move on, because that's what he would have wanted for her. She was too strong to lose to grief. She'd thought the same of Eliwood.

"Look," she told him, putting her hands on his shoulders and forcing him to meet her gaze. "It's fair for Ninian to want to be remembered. She was your first love, and perhaps even your true love. Perhaps you'll never find anyone like her again. But she wouldn't want you to live like this. You're wasting away."

"That's what Della said. She told me I must forget her."

"No," said Lyn as she shook her head. "She's wrong. Don't you see, Eliwood? You never _will_ forget her. Look what she's taught you; look at the person you've become. You've learned to stop and enjoy the beauty in life, instead of constantly charging after the terror, hoping to purge it. You know what it is to risk your life to protect someone, to be a _true_ noble. And even though you've been fighting it, you know that if you care about something…you have to act before it gets away."

She looked to the window to impress her point, and when she looked back Eliwood had followed her gaze with dry, red-veined eyes.

"I've spent too many tears on this," he told her. "Hector would tease me forever if he knew."

"Honestly," Lyn confided, enfolding him in a hug, "that's one of the reasons I admire you." He'd become so much stronger than the horrible day he still dreamed about. The nights afterward she would lie awake fearing for Kent's life, grateful she still had him close even if she couldn't love him, while through the thin wall of her tent she heard Eliwood sobbing softly beside her. By daybreak his pillow had soaked up his guilt and he'd greeted the army with a smile. The fact that he knew he had to release it, the fact that he could still feel that sorrow now, gave her hope. Feeling anything was stronger than becoming dead to it all.

"Let's still not tell Hector," said Eliwood, and abruptly broke away from her embrace, looking a little closer to tears again because of her words. She chuckled in agreement, but had to stop when he added, "It seems I've learned that last lesson too late. She and Sain have eloped."

It was her turn to pull at the roots of her hair. "I seriously doubt that. I tell you, they've gone to Bern."

"What proof do you have?" he asked her bitterly.

At that moment a soldier ran by, nearly skidding when he caught sight of Eliwood. "My lord! We've been searching for you everywhere. Commander Marcus is gone; he left you this message." He handed Eliwood a scrap of paper, which the lord scanned before looking up in shock. The soldier shifted uncomfortably. "What should we do, m'lord?"

"He might've been court marshaled for this," Eliwood murmured to himself, studying the paper again. When he looked back up he shook his head at the soldier. "Do not worry. Anything Commander Marcus does has my leave. Please inform the second that he will take over Marcus's duties until his return."

"Yes, my lord." The soldier bowed and was gone.

"Let me guess," said Lyn with a smile. "He's gone to Bern."

"He didn't disclose the place, but that must be it. He says that he goes for my welfare. What could that possibly mean?"

"That Della had a plan after all. And its _not_ eloping." Lyn stretched and walked to her wardrobe, where she had stashed the Sol Katti. "Honestly, it's like no one but Sain and I trust her."

"And Marcus, apparently." Eliwood pinched the bridge of his nose and mumbled, "She'll be killed. And those two men will die with her."

"What did I tell you about not being able to control people?" Lyn asked crossly. "Now just let it go." When she turned to face him again, she was juggling her blade's sheath from hand to hand. "In the meantime, we should spar. You can think about how you'll declare your love afterward, if it'll help."

She tossed the blade at him and he missed, bright red again.

xXx

Hardly a mile out from Caelin, Sain had to face a terrible truth: not only had Della never ridden a horse before, but she was _terrible_ with horses. She had no idea how to steer or stop, and when they'd transitioned from a walk to a canter she nearly flew out of the saddle. He assured her that a gallop was smoother but she wouldn't believe him. She got so frustrated that he had to cover his mouth to hide his smile. By dawn they had made terrible progress, but slowed to a walk so their horses could rest.

Sain chanced a glance at Marcus. One of the reasons Della had gotten him to accompany them was to ask for a chaperone, being _ever so worried_ about traveling alone with Sain. When he sputtered in protest she pushed him out the door, closed it, and said something else to the old knight, something that had convinced him completely. He was determined to find out what it was, but had to be careful if Marcus would be watching him the entire time.

Della was riding a little ways ahead of him and Marcus, and he hastened to her side so that they wouldn't be overheard. "You have to tell me what you told him; what made him come along."

"I simply asked him to trust me," she said with a sly glance. "We must think of this entire mission as an experiment"

He squinted at her: "What. Are. You. Thinking."

"That I'll miss Pherae," she said, surprising him with a sincere answer. "And Lyn. And Eliwood."

"Ah, him." Sain stretched his arms from his saddle. "I'm actually rather glad to be going, myself."

"What? But why?"

"Oh, I don't know," he replied with a shrug. "The food is better in Caelin, the Pheraean kitchen women are timid and all run away from me—though I _do _love a good chase!—and…"

As Della rolled her eyes, Sain cleared his throat and quietly added: "Oh yes, and Lord Eliwood has his eye on me because he thinks I'm lusting after you and I declared my love to you last night so by this morning we've surely eloped."

"_What_?" Della shrieked.

Sain just cocked his head to the side and shot her the most suave smile he could muster. "Come now, do you really think Lord Eliwood would be so forward as to try and court you, therefore ruining your innocent friendship? I had to give him…er, a bit of a push."

"What? I didn't _want_ a push! What have you done?"

"Ah, bright angel, you underestimate me! My plan worked just as I had intended it to. When I told Lord Eliwood that I wanted to confess my love—"

"Jesuchristo, ayudame."

"I'm not _serious_," said Sain. "_He_ just happens to think I am. I worked the lordling into quite a state. No need to thank me!"

"_Thank _you?" hissed Della. "You're toying with my dearest friend and antagonizing me—and all for nothing! He doesn't want to court me. And I don't want to court him either! And…he's _not_ a 'lordling.' He is Marquess Pherae, and he's a man full of justice and chivalry…which is much more than _you _can boast, Sir Knight!"

"Listen," said Sain exasperatedly, "I'm not blind! I see the way you smile at him, the way he looks at you! Don't you know that you could have him?"

"You mean—"

"I mean that you must _act_, wench!" Sain ordered. "With Lord Eliwood jealous, if you so much as look my way he will want to be beside you. Think of the possibilities, when we get back. But you can't always expect him to be by your side and not say a word about it! Seize his love and bind it to yours!"

Della stared at him, mouth agape. "You…"

"Solved all your problems?" Sain finished with a grin.

"You…"

"Are a mastermind of love?"

"You…called me a _wench_!" She tried to kick him and almost fell off her horse again.

"Forget it, Della. What's done is done. He feels for you, I saw the proof of it, and you're going to have to confront it when you get back."

"I have decided to die in Bern, instead," she said lightly.

"That's not funny." They rode in silence for a long while before he dared to ask, "How are we even going to get _into_ Bern, anyway?"

"I dunno," said Della with a one-shouldered shrug. "I figured we'd play it by ear and see what happens when we get there."

"Woah." Sain sharply and immediately reigned in his horse. Marcus copied his action. The tactician, fumbling a bit with the reins, managed to do the same, if more slowly. She twisted around to look at them.

"What the heck? Why did you stop? We have to keep moving."

"I may be a knight-errant for the time being," said Sain, "but…I'm not going to just sally into the most intensely-guarded castle fortress on the continent."

"It's suicide," Marcus added sternly. "You mean to tell me that you don't have royal clearance to enter Bern? Without it, this journey is only folly."

"You're only folly," Della mumbled in retort.

Sain locked his eyes on the tactician's. "I followed you without question, Della, as I've done for a long time now…but it was because I assumed that you _actually had a plan_."

"I always have a plan," she said, sounding hurt. "I just…don't…always think of it right away!"

Sain flung an arm out, sputtering, "We can't just waltz up to the gates and expect them to let us in!"

"Well someone has to be able to get in," she retorted, kicking her horse into a walk.

"Yes, _important_ people get in," Sain insisted as he followed her. "Visiting lords, or appointed messengers, or—"

"Or ambassadors?"

"Now you're getting it!"

Della whirled around in the saddle to get a better look at Marcus. "Marcus, ambassadors are legit, right?"

"Well yes, I—"

"Wait," Sain interrupted the older knight, looking suspiciously up at the tactician. "Why?"

Slowly, she grinned and pointed to the sky. Sain followed the gesture to find a white speck soaring along…something much too small and much too fast to be a cloud.

"A pegasus knight?" he asked bewilderedly.

Della tossed her hair and, after a failed attempt, goaded her horse back into a jaunty trot, waving hard to catch the attention of the rider up above. "From now on, if anyone asks, boys, we hail from Ilia!"

xXx

Hector should've been asleep, especially this late during a night this cold, but he found himself up on the battlements instead. The night was clear and the moon almost full, but the wind was bitter. It made his cloak stream out behind him, but he kept his hood down, for its sting upon his cheek helped to clear his head.

No one had told him that being a marquess would be so stressful. Really, he wasn't supposed to _be_ a marquess. His whole life he'd grown up with Eliwood and Uther, rolling his eyes while they discussed politics and loopholes in the laws, for not only had those subjects not interested him, but he was sure he'd never need them. He had been so wrong. Now Uther was gone forever, and all of Ostia was balanced in Hector's hands.

_Whichever god decided that had a terrible sense of humour,_ he thought as he took a huge breath. The cold cleaned his lungs but only made him feel more awake. He should have been asleep an hour ago.

"What are you doing up here?" a voice asked from behind him, and he turned to find a woman walking toward him, practically a shade in her black uniform.

"Farina. I didn't know you were back yet."

"I just arrived a couple of hours ago." She rubbed her arms against the chill and asked again, oblivious of how his face went slack when he realized that he'd really, truly missed her: "Why are you out here?"

"It's my castle, isn't it? I can be wherever I want."

"But it's late, you oaf, and it's cold."

"Then why are _you_ up and about?"

"I just couldn't sleep yet." She looked out to the dark horizon and he watched her breath mist in front of her face. How warm was the inside of her mouth? His own lips felt nearly frozen shut, and for a moment were tempted to find out.

"Yeah, well," he said instead. "I couldn't sleep either."

"What's wrong?"

He glared at her. "Nothing's wrong. Why would you just assume that?"

"You look…oh, never mind. Forget I said anything."

"Done." They stood together in awkward silence before he asked, "How was Caerleon?"

"Less windy than here. I was almost blown off Murphy."

"You be careful."

"Don't tell me what to do." There was another silence, and then she asked, "How was Ostia?"

"I guess I should know best, but I don't," he said, and gripped the battlement wall to stave off a shiver. "It doesn't seem any worse than when you left, does it?"

"No. That's a strange question to ask."

"Sometimes I worry."

The feeling of her hand on his shoulder made him look up quickly. "Hector," she told him, "I think you're doing a fine job as a marquess. Way better than I could do, at least. And you didn't really have any time to prepare."

"I'm not looking for sympathy," he said shortly.

"I'm not giving it!" she snapped back, and immediately withdrew her hand. "I just want you to know that I believe in you, okay?"

He should've told her he didn't care what she believed, should've said something, anything to keep the argument going, to stay in familiar territory. He couldn't. She had caught him off guard.

"No one's really said that to me before," he told her.

"Well. There you have it. Sorry to be such a sap." She turned to leave, and instinctively he reached out and caught her arm. She turned to look at him, blue eyes wide in her face. "What do you want?"

"I'm not sure," he said, a little dumbfounded. "I just grabbed you."

"Well, are you going to let me go?"

"I don't want to."

She pulled her lips to one side, the face she always made when he was irking her, but she didn't say anything. She let his thumb caress the bare skin of her arm, trying to smooth away the goosebumps.

"Let's at least go inside," she said, "if you want company."

He shook his head and told her, "No." _Out here I think clearly. I'm uncomfortable. If we go inside, I'm going to advance on you, and you know it._

She did. He felt her study his eyes, saw her understand him.

"Let's go inside," she said again, softly.

They made it through the door, but just barely. Seeing the hallway was deserted, he pressed her up against the wall and kissed her hard. She wound her fingers in his hair and pulled him even tighter against her, let him kiss her neck. She arched her back and whispered, "I can't believe I'm doing this."

"Me neither." He smiled against her skin; kissed her lips again to find that she was smiling too. He hadn't kissed anyone since Lyn, and Lyn had never wanted to. Farina felt different. _Stronger_. She also wasted no time pulling his shirt from his breeches and sliding her hands under it to feel his chest.

"I suppose you'd mind if I did the same to you?" he teased against her lips.

"There's only one way to find out," she answered.

He pulled away with a chuckle and found himself staring into her blue eyes, now dark with desire. No one kept him on his toes like she did. "Farina…I've really missed you."

In an instant her eyes were wiped blank, like washing a slate with water. She pushed him away almost frantically, ducked out under his arms, and was two steps away before he grabbed her arm again.

"Hey, wait! What's the matter?"

"You ruined it!" she cried, whirling to face him and wrenching her arm away. "You just _had _to ruin it!"

He was nearly flabbergasted. "What did I do?"

"I just wanted to have a little fun! You didn't have to get all sentimental on me!"

"Sentimental?! Elimine forbid I have to have _permission_ to be glad to see you—should I pay for that privilege, as well?"

"Stop it," she said, hands clenching into trembling fists.

"I might as well be paying you, if your kisses don't mean anything."

"I said _stop it!_ It's not like yours meant anything, either!"

He had to stop short, clenching his jaw, because he couldn't really argue with her. He wasn't _sure_ what he meant by them. He'd just…liked her. "I don't understand! What are you so afraid of?"

"You're a marquess," she said shortly. "I'm a mercenary. And you're the one paying me to deliver the letters. I shouldn't have ever let you—"

"You know none of that matters to me!"

"That doesn't change the facts! You're attractive, sure,"—It looked as though it caused her physical pain to say that—"but I shouldn't be fooling around with you. I should be working."

"I wasn't—I didn't—that's not what that was!"

"Don't tell me that's not what that was!" Her eyes were huge in her face, and her lips trembled. It made him take a step back, as if to placate her. She looked _terrified_.

"What do you want it to be, then?" he asked her.

"Nothing," she said.

"Okay. It meant nothing. Just a…release of tension."

"Yeah." She heaved a shuddering sigh, whispered a goodnight, turned from him, and walked away with her back rigid and her hands still clenched. He watched her go, knowing she wouldn't be heading for his room tonight, but even the thought of having the space to himself didn't comfort him.

xXx

_I'm not even sure how to write about this. It's a little embarrassing, and very sad, and it feels quite a bit like a breach of privacy. But if anyone can tell me what to do now, it's you, my dear._

"My dear." What a strange thing to call Serra. Erk considered crossing it out, but eventually decided against it. It just felt right to say. In her own strange way, she _was_ a dear. Perhaps he had picked it up from Pent—his master called everyone "my dear," from Louise to the serving women to Erk himself until he reached manhood.

He had to put down the pen and figure out how to phrase himself.

Since Priscilla had come to him that first night, they'd kissed many times, usually desperately. He knew that he shouldn't allow it, knew that he was basically being used so that she could feel loved again, but he couldn't deny her anything—or so he thought, until she came to him offering not just her lips but her entire body. He'd recoiled from their most recent kiss in shock. She'd wept.

"Sometimes I wonder if this is why he left!" she said. "We'd never done more than kiss. He never asked for more but I could still tell he wanted it. I still don't know why he's gone—what if this is it?"

Erk put his hands on her shoulders. "No. Priscilla, no. You shouldn't ever feel like you _have_ to do this."

"I want to," she pressed, but he could see in her eyes that she only desired what she believed _he_ desired. It was as if she'd lost the ability to want for herself anymore. He shook his head solemnly and wiped the tears from her cheek with his hand.

"Let's wait. Until you're happy again. It would be best."

Her eyes flooded with relief, and newer tears. He'd led her to the window seat, where she curled up on his lap and cried herself to sleep. He spent another night sleepless, propped up against the nook's wooden wall, gradually feeling his legs go numb.

_I know any other man would call me a fool for denying her, but you should have seen her face, Serra. Like a woman going to her execution. She truly believed, in that moment, that this was all she was worth and this was all the power she had. I think I've talked her out of it, but it was frightening to see. She's always been so much stronger than that. What do I do?_

xXx

When Fiora landed and saw who had hailed her, it was hard not to wrinkle her nose.

There were three travelers, and the first was Lord Eliwood's old tactician. Fiora had never liked the girl, whose erratic tactics seemed downright reckless, whose close friendship with Eliwood seemed out of line, and whose ridiculous words seemed immature. To make matters worse, Della had paid Fiora and discharged her from the army the day after they had beaten Nergal, giving her no chance to say goodbye to Lord Eliwood or Kent, and that had stung deeply. Fiora had always known that Kent cared for Lady Lyndis, but that hadn't stopped her from befriending him and then—yes, to her shame, falling for him—during the war. He'd always felt like a kindred spirit, to her. They had so much in common and their talks were always so comfortable. When she tried to forget him, seeing how he looked at Lyndis, her heart had alighted on Lord Eliwood, which was an even less plausible match. The lord was charming, honest, ambitious, and many other things that Fiora admired, but he'd also made it clear that he was courting Ninian, and so she forced herself to move on before any real feelings had kindled. Still, she wished she had at least gotten the chance to say goodbye, to have any sort of closure. Della had denied her that.

At the tactician's side, and possibly more of a grievance than Della herself, was Sir Sain, grinning as irrepressibly as always. Fiora bristled despite herself, having resented his "poetic" advances, although Kent had assured her that it was simply how his friend treated all women. She had never appreciated it. Next to Sain was Sir Marcus, a supposedly great knight but one she had never spoken to.

"Hey, so," Della began, fidgeting on a white horse she clearly had very little idea of how to ride, "this is going to sound ridiculous, but we're going to Bern and we need your uniform. And your Pegasus. And your…help." She spat out the last word as if it tasted sour.

"I don't understand," said Fiora guardedly.

Della pressed her lips together in thought for a moment, and then looked to Sain. "Stay right here."

"What?" Sain protested, but Della dismounted (getting her foot caught in the stirrup in the process) and began to walk away, motioning for Fiora to follow her. Since she had already landed, and wasn't sure if it would be rude to resist, Fiora slid from her mount's back and obeyed.

Sain watched the two women walk away with his eyes narrowed. He couldn't hear a word that was exchanged, but saw Della speak for a long time, and Fiora shake her head often. Finally Della looked back at Sain suspiciously, pressed her side against Fiora's to create a wall with their bodies, drew something out of her pocket, and showed it to her.

"No fair!" said Sain to himself. He had long wondered what was in that pocket, and had a sinking feeling that he still wasn't about to find out anytime soon. When the women came back Della looked a little put-out, like someone forced to endure an unexpected change of plans, and Fiora was deathly pale.

"You must swear not to tell anyone," the tactician was saying, and before Sain and Marcus, Fiora made the oath. "Remember, this is for Eliwood."

_Manipulative wench!_ Sain thought, clenching his fingers around the reigns. His heart ached for the pegasus knight. _Anyone could see how she looked at Lord Eliwood toward the end of the war!_

While Fiora shakily climbed onto her steed, Della clasped her hands behind her back and explained the plan: "I will wear Fiora's spare uniform and she and I will present ourselves at the gates as Ilian ambassadors with an urgent message. You two will be two other mercenaries, if anyone asks, assigned to escort us during this long journey, for my Pegasus was killed by bandit archers early in the journey and we were forced to return to Ilia for your aid before we struck out again. When we are inside of the stronghold, Marcus will insist on tending to his horse in the stables and Sain will charm a servant girl into showing him where they keep the wyverns. Once at your destinations, you will release as many as you can of each. In the chaos, Fiora and I will duck out to search for Heath."

After a stunned moment, Sain was able to ask, "And what are we going to do once we find him? He's surely in a cell, under lock and key. How will we break him out? How will we escape? What if any of us gets caught? What if—"

"We'll figure it out as we go," the tactician said crossly. "I promise this will work eventually."

"Eventually?!"

"Sir, please trust her," said Fiora quietly.

Sain and Marcus exchanged a bewildered glance, and soon the four of them were on their way once more.

xXx

_There wasn't a beginning. There wasn't a build-up. Serra was simply there, beside him as he lay in his dark bed, rolling on top of him and pressing her lips to his. They were soft, and so was her hair when he reached up to stroke it, pulling out the ties around her pigtails in order to feel more. After a long moment she straddled him and pushed herself up so she was sitting on his legs, then forced him up by the shoulders and pulled the shirt he slept in over his head. She did the same to the white dress she was wearing but he had no time to stare because she was kissing him again, pressing her skin hard to his. When she pulled away her lavender eyes were just as he remembered them, and her voice was too when she told him, "I've always loved you." He responded with another kiss, bringing her sinking back to the pillow with him. The rest was blurred colours, faint light, rhythm—_

Erk sat straight up in bed with a strangled gasp. A single, sharp beam of moonlight sliced across the foot of his bed, but otherwise his room was pitch-black. He reached for Serra's letters on his nightstand, instinctively, but recoiled as soon as he remembered who had written them. Instead he laid his trembling hands in his lap and stared at them.

_What was that?_ he thought as he tried to catch his breath. _What was_ that?

It had to be circumstantial, he assured himself as he ran a hand through his hair. Brought on by Priscilla's actions the day before and reading Serra's letters right before bed, blurring in his brain as he slept. What he still felt, wishing Serra were here beside him, had to be a sleep hallucination, a remnant of the dream. He wasn't fully awake yet, surely.

However, when he forced himself to lie back down and shut his eyes, despite the past two sleepless nights, he couldn't fall back to sleep. He was _absolutely_ awake.

With a sigh, he pushed himself out of bed, lit a candle, and picked up the stack of Serra's letters. Why had this happened to him, he wanted to ask them. He'd missed Serra, and definitely longed to spend time with her recently, but that was normal for good friends, once both parties had forgotten how much they annoyed each other. Good _friends_.

He sat and thought until sunrise, when there was a knock at the door. He went to open it, expecting Priscilla, forgetting that he was still in his pajamas, and took a step back to find Farina there instead.

"What's happened?" he asked her, for surely she was the harbinger of some terrible message. She _looked_ terrible, at least. Her lips were chapped and bleeding at the corner, and she had deep rings under her eyes.

"Nothing happened," she said, folding her arms and leaning against the doorpost. "I'm just here with a letter for you." She reached into a pocket and pulled out a mere scrap of paper. Erk read the loopy handwriting, obviously Serra's, right there, for all it said was,

_I'm not sure. Just hang on._

Stupid advice, empty words. If she were here in person she'd certainly have something real to say. She always did. He shook his head and asked Farina, "Are you sure you're all right?"

"Yeah. I just flew through the night. It was rough. Really cold out."

"But you must've only just gotten to Ostia," he calculated. "Why didn't you at least stay the night? The letter wasn't important at all; I'm sure Serra didn't tell you it was."

Her eyes narrowed. "Stop asking questions, kid."

"All right; I'm sorry." More and more was confusing him, these days, and he _hated_ it. He walked to his desk and grabbed his last letter for Serra, about Priscilla's strange behaviour. "I have a letter to send back, but…you should rest before you take it, okay? At least one day."

"No need to worry about that. I'm in no hurry to get back."

He bit his tongue against another question. "All right. Just come back when you're ready, I suppose."

"I will." Farina pushed herself from the doorpost and turned to leave, but turned back as if struck with a sudden thought. "Oh yeah. Serra said she missed you. Wished you'd come visit, after all this is over."

Erk opened his mouth but no words came out. Farina smirked and walked away when he didn't reply.

xXx

"You need to tell me what's _really_ going on," Sain said that night, as he, Della, Marcus, and Fiora huddled around their tiny campfire. It would only get colder once they got closer to Bern, and soon they'd all probably have to sleep together in the same tent. He wondered if their brilliant master tactician had considered the awkwardness of _that_. Although he certainly wouldn't mind sleeping snuggled up next to Fiora. He'd always admired her, of course: beautiful, tranquil, determined…if only she didn't have such a tendency to admire redheads instead.

"I will do no such thing," Della replied, and that was the end of that.

Sain sighed and shifted, very slightly, so that he was marginally closer to Fiora. "So what were you doing flying all the way down here, my dear?" he asked the pegasus knight.

She stiffened further at the endearment, if that were even possible. "Looking for work. It seems that I've found it."

"And how," said Della, which made Fiora even stiffer. It seemed to Sain that the two women were not going to get along well.

"Hey," he complained, "am I going to get paid, too?"

"Is my friendship not enough?"

"Not if you get us all killed."

"I find your lack of faith disturbing." The tactician looked around as if expecting a reaction, and sighed when she didn't get one. "I think I'm just going to stop making references to anything. It's so lonely."

"Like Lord Eliwood," Sain muttered to her, too low for Fiora or Marcus to hear, and she responded by elbowing him in the ribs. That made him sigh. "This is going to be a long journey, isn't it."

"No," said Marcus, surprising all of them by clearly implying that he already found the trip tedious. "Hopefully it will be over as soon as possible."

"Hosanna," said Della, and was once again greeted with no response.

xXx

It had been a week since Farina had taken off. Hector spent most of it in a daze of boring meetings, without even Matthew to distract him, since the spy had long since gone to check out the tension in Bern.

He felt terrible whenever he thought about Farina, without really knowing why. She'd practically invited him to kiss her, and she'd been enjoying it as much as he had, and then all of a sudden…it was like he'd tried to hurt her, to force himself upon her. But all he'd done was say he missed her.

_It should be normal to miss a good friend_, he thought to himself, disgruntled, but then got confused about when they even became good friends. It didn't seem fair. He'd just missed being intimate with someone, he supposed, in any way—Uther was gone, Lyn was leaving for Sacae, and he probably wouldn't see Eliwood again for months, maybe years. He was supposed to be not just a marquess but the head of the entire Lycian League, him, a lord's second son, and it was all pretty difficult to bear. What he wouldn't give for someone to tell anything to, to stay by his side, to tell him something simple like they believed he could do it.

Not that it mattered, of course, because he couldn't court Farina even if he wanted to, and by now he was quite sure that he didn't want to. She was _crazy_. Unfortunately, it was high time to start thinking of who he _would_ want to court, and eventually marry, as his head advisor had told him just that morning.

He'd snorted to himself, sure that he could put it off for at least another few years, for marriage certainly wasn't anything he was interested in. He'd been proven wrong when Erik of Laus showed up at the gate.

That lout! When Hector had been informed of the untimely visit, he almost kicked over a chair and needed a good quarter of an hour before he figured he had calmed himself enough to greet Erik in the main hall. A quarter of an hour, apparently, had not been enough, as the sight of that old sneer brought the urge to overturn furniture back with a vengeance. It was only the presence of Oswin, who had accompanied him, and the two Laus guards flanking Erik that made him lash out with his tongue, instead:

"You'd better have something good to say. The last time I saw you, you tried to kill me and Eliwood. You aren't welcome in my hall and you never will be."

Erik merely smirked. "They say not to shoot the messenger, Hector."

"I've broken a lot of rules in my time; today doesn't have to be any different."

The lord of Laus shrugged. "I'm not really any happier to be here than you are. It seems that the other lords have gone behind our backs—and Eliwood's too."

Hector exchanged a glance with Oswin before asking, "What are you talking about?"

"The rest of the League has decided that since all of our fathers—or brothers—died in the…conflict, we'll need to secure our houses with heirs as soon as possible."

"What? A meeting wasn't called about this. I'd know; I'm the _head_ of the League!"

"All the more reason for them to vote without 'bothering' you. They knew you'd oppose, and probably bully some of the weaker lords into agreeing."

"You sure are lucky you have those guards with you. I don't care about you, but I'd hate to kill them to _get_ to you."

Erik snorted and spread his arms as if daring him, but ignored the comment. Instead he relayed the full message, the League's full order, and Hector felt his mouth go slack.

xXx

Farina finally landed back in Ostia and delivered Erk letter to Serra, although she didn't stick around to see the cleric's reaction to it. She went down to the kitchens, first, and then decided that she should probably apologize to Hector. He'd frightened her, certainly, with all his talk of "missing" as if he actually cared about her, but he hadn't _meant_ to frighten her. She'd overreacted. And while she certainly didn't care what the oaf thought of her, he was still the marquess of Ostia, and it'd never hurt to have friends in high places, so she should do what she could to smooth things over.

The sun had long since set when she knocked on his door. When he opened it and recognized her, he looked genuinely startled.

"I'm, uh, sorry to bother you," she said, already feeling an awkwardness settling between them. "I just wanted to…apologize, I guess. About the last time I was here. And how I left so abruptly."

"I thought we were just going to forget about it," he said.

"Yes, but…" She trailed off, struck with a sudden thought. "Do _you_ want to forget about it?"

"I don't really have a choice," he said tightly.

"Well. No need to be rude; I just came to be friendly."

"Seems a little dangerous."

"What? What's the matter with you?"

"Nothing. It's just—something's happened. Erik's here. I can't really talk right now." He passed a hand through his hair while she folded her arms across her chest, but then he murmured, "I'm sorry."

She blinked and asked, "What are _you_ apologizing for?"

"I'll try to explain tomorrow, I promise. It's just that tonight I don't really trust myself to without getting angry. I very badly need to be either distracted or left alone."

"I can't do the former for you," she said, shifting uncomfortably.

"No, you can't," he agreed with a bitter smile.

She looked him over, felt her brow furrow, and asked, "What could Lord Erik possibly have said to you?"

"I'll tell you tomorrow. In the meantime, I need to write to Eliwood. Will you carry that letter to him? I'll pay you double. It's urgent, otherwise I wouldn't ask."

"Yeah, I'll do it," she said, although she was suspicious.

"Thank you." He stretched out a hand as if to touch her face, but drew it back quickly. She turned away so he wouldn't see the fear on her face and heard him shut the door behind him.

She liked him, despite herself, a great deal more than she ever should have allowed herself to. It had been hard enough to deny that he was handsome, but even accepting that she'd been able to keep telling herself that he was an oaf, a brute, an idiot. It never seemed to ring true, anymore, despite how strange he was acting now. It was good that she'd overreacted, then, and good that he was distancing her now. She'd wanted a little fun but not an all-out affair, and not with any marquess. She knew her place, or had at least realized it, and it seemed that so had he. Still, she was intensely curious about what he had to tell her. She made her way back to her usual room, already itching for the next day to arrive.

xXx

Early that morning Lyn had come to Eliwood's door, and he let her into his receiving chamber without a word. He knew without asking she wanted anything to keep her mind off of Kent, and his conversation was all he could offer her. In the course of an hour they'd covered most things—health, hopes for the future, speculations on whether Sain and Della had killed each other yet—but eventually Lyn turned the conversation to him, and he wasn't sure he liked it.

"So why do you keep having nightmares?" she asked him. "You had another last night, didn't you?"

He touched the skin beneath his eyes, which had probably led her to guess that, before he answered, "I don't know why they happen. Stress, I assume, and guilt, but it never happened to me during the war, or even just after. It was only once I returned to Pherae."

"You've tried writing them down? Relaxing before bed?"

"If any of that worked," he said tightly, "I wouldn't have put my tactician in a position that made you want to strangle me. Although for what it's worth, she really put _herself_ there."

Lyn sighed but chose not to argue the point. "Don't you Lycians have any superstitions about dreams, or anything? Whether the Lorca's were true or not, they always worked for me. My father once told me that bad dreams come from bad spirits, but that falling asleep happy would keep them away. We'd always sit together and think of happy things before bed. I never had nightmares until after he was killed, and even then only when I forgot what he told me."

_Well_, Eliwood thought, feeling stupid, _that explains that_. Of course falling asleep with Della kept his dreams at bay. Having someone close, someone who cared about him and talked to him about random things, made him happy. He fell asleep thinking of her. And all the times he'd slept without her, he'd fallen asleep thinking of Ninian instead, which was as miserable as it was comforting.

A knock sounded suddenly. Why Eliwood called for the visitor to enter, he found a page at the door, with Farina standing behind him. She carried a letter in her hand.

"I was asked to deliver this personally," she said.

"Farina!" he greeted, jumping up to take the letter from her as she entered the room and the page disappeared. "How are you? How is Hector?"

"Fantastic," she said, very stiffly. That made him falter as he opened the letter and ask,

"Bad news?"

"I assume so."

Eliwood pressed his lips together and tried to figure out his old friend's handwriting, traditionally horrid but now worse than ever—he'd been writing quickly.

_Eliwood, Erik's here. He's off to Pherae next but I sent this with Farina so you could know before his smarmy rear gets there. The League went behind all of our backs and voted that since we've all lost our fathers and have no brothers, the three of us have to ensure heirs as soon as possible. Which means we all have to get married—to a noblewoman—within a year. And if we don't pick our own brides by then, the League will pick them for us._

"A year?" Eliwood cried to the paper.

"What is it?" asked Lyn, but he ignored her to keep reading:

_Don't get all dismayed, I hate it as much as you do but at least we're in it together. Well, and with Erik. Mostly the worst part of it is I kissed Farina the other week; obviously that was bad timing. If she seems more upset than usual, that's why—HEY, IF SHE'S STANDING THERE DON'T LOOK AT HER OKAY she'll know I was writing about her._ Eliwood sighed and just barely suppressed the urge to. Would there be no expanation of _that_ in this letter?

_Anyway, I'm not really sure what to do about all this. It's enough time to court but not a lot of time to_ find _somebody to court, and I know you're not really ready for either. Neither am I, actually. Getting married sounds terrible. Good luck with Erik; give him a kiss for me. And by 'kiss' I mean 'punch in the face.'_

Eliwood sank back onto the couch and sat the letter next to him.

"Eliwood, what is it?" Lyn pressed.

"I have one year to get married," he said, feeling a little numb. She smiled at that, surely remembering their last conversation about his tactician, so he sourly added, "to a noblewoman."

The smile slid from her face.

"And so does Hector, who seems to care about a commoner very much." He avoided looking at Farina but felt that, even against his friends' wishes, it should be said—he knew Hector wouldn't have kissed her for no reason, but judging by how angry she looked, he'd surely done a poor job of explaining himself, his intentions, and the League's mandate. She should at least know that he wasn't just toying with her.

"Really," said Lyn, who also mercifully didn't look at Farina, but Eliwood knew full well that she understood. "Does it get any worse than this?"

"Yes. Erik of Laus is coming; he'll arrive within the week."

Lyn pressed her lips together and leaned back into the couch, and all of a sudden she wasn't the only one in the room wishing Kent would hurry and return. Laus had taken over Caelin during the war, after all, and Eliwood knew the knight's calming presence might be the only thing keeping Lyn from causing a national incident. It made him wish that Della and Marcus and even Sain would come back, too, for he had the sinking feeling that a lot was about to go wrong.

xXx

Snow had started falling in Ostia, at sunset. Serra sat on the frosted stone steps overlooking the castle garden, Erk's newest letter in hand, sniffling partly from the cold, partly from the runny nose she'd awoken to that morning, and partly from her efforts not to cry. All of her advice was working. Priscilla was practically his, even if she was a weak, weak woman, as far as Serra was concerned, who would take the first man that came along in the absence of her true love. That absence hurt, she knew that herself, but she also knew it was possible to live through.

Still, Erk's last letter about Priscilla's offer had been so sad, and she had no idea how to address it. She believed her friend had done the right thing, at least, which was a start. But how long would that last? That, compared with how achy she'd felt all day and how her throat had started to hurt, made her lose her battle against her tears and then her battle to at least cry silently. She'd always been a loud crier, prone to hiccups and sobs that she couldn't swallow, but this time she didn't want anyone to know how she was feeling. Unfortunately heavy footsteps sounded behind her, and Hector's voice demanded,

"Serra, what are you doing out here? Your head isn't even covered. It'll be dark soon."

"Go away," she said, her voice quavering way more than she wanted it to.

He sighed and sat down beside her. "What _now_—Serra, are you crying?"

"Go _away_."

"Is this Erk again? Come on. Don't sit out here and be miserable for him. There are better men, I'm sure."

"He just won't like me," she said, starting to feel hoarse, "and I love him so much. I don't know what to do."

"Stop being sad about it," he suggested, which she found very unhelpful.

"I've even tried making him jealous. I'll write to him about Oswin, and about you—"

"Me?!"

"Yeah, it's easy; I've just been repeating things Farina's said. It's always 'Hector sure does take care of his friends _but_ he's an idiot' or 'Hector sure has nice shoulders _but_ he's so obnoxious.' I just take out the 'buts' when I write to Erk."

"She said that about me?" he asked incredulously.

"I'm sorry, but sometimes you _are_ a tad obnoxious, Lord Hector."

"No, I mean the _nice_ things. We…" He paused, as if fighting himself over the idea of telling her anything, before he sighed and admitted, "We've had a fight. I was under the impression that she didn't like me in the least. I've been kind of a boor."

"I think she likes you a lot," said Serra. "It just frightens her because she can't ever be with you, you know. And I don't think she ever _meant_ to like you. I mean, she's an Ilian mercenary. The only things she owns are her pegasus and her control over her own life, and now she doesn't even have that control anymore, and technically it's your fault."

"Oh, sure," he said angrily, "_my_ fault."

"Don't get mad at _me_," she sniffed, before a bitter shiver ran through her. It wasn't her fault that she had a superior knowledge of romance. Hector looked at her concernedly.

"Hey, let's go inside, okay? You're going to get sick."

"I am not," she insisted, but let him lead her back in. Even once in the castle, however, she couldn't stop shivering. Not even when she got to her room. Not even once she lit a fire (which was difficult) and burrowed under all her blankets. It was hard to fall asleep, and she couldn't remember when it happened, nor could she remember waking up, for by that time she was delirious with fever.


	16. Return

_Synopsis: In the last chapter, Sain and Della run away with Marcus to get to Bern in time to prevent Heath's execution—despite Eliwood expressly ordering them not to. Before they leave, Sain catches Eliwood alone and manages to convince him that he plans to propose to Della when they are away from Pherae, hoping to make him jealous and provoke him into confessing his feelings for his tactician when they return. Eliwood discusses this with Lyn, who tells him that when Ninian asked him not to forget her, she never intended him to suffer for it. Once away from Pherae, Sain and Della recruit Fiora to help them sneak into Bern under the guise of Ilian ambassadors. Della has to show Fiora whatever it is she always carries in her pocket to convince her, and Sain becomes determined to find out what it is._

_Priscilla and Erk continue their romance, but Erk belatedly realizes that Priscilla doesn't love him and is only coming to him for comfort. She tries to convince Erk to sleep with her, wondering if that is the reason why Heath left, but he refuses because he doesn't wish to take advantage of her._

_In Ostia, Hector finally snaps and kisses Farina, who seems just fine with this until he confesses that he's missed her. At this sign of affection, she panics, they fight, and she flees. To complicate things, Erik of Laus arrives with a mandate from the rest of the Lycian League: he, Hector, and Eliwood will be required to pick noble wives within a year, since they lost their brothers and fathers in the war and the League is concerned about their heirs. Telling Farina this obviously does not make anything better._

_Hector asks Farina to deliver the message to Eliwood before Erik can, and she accepts, admitting only to herself that she has fallen for him. In Pherae, Eliwood realizes that Hector feels the same way, and hints at it to her, hoping to ease the tension of the fight she's had with him._

_At the end of the chapter, a simple cold of Serra's becomes a much more serious illness, but she is alone when it strikes._

_**Chapter Sixteen—Return**_

The cell was cold.

They'd taken Hyperion away, beating him when he roared and lashed out with his tail, and that was the last Heath saw of his poor mount before they'd thrown him in the traitor's dungeon in the tallest tower: coldest because of the height, and the hardest to get to. Long decades of weather had worn at the stone until sections near the roof crumbled, and he was wary of leaning against certain parts of the wall in case he broke right through and fell to his death. A single barred window too high to reach let in a constant and terrible draft, and he had no cot to sleep on, although there was an itchy blanket.

Sitting there alone for so many days had left him nothing to do but think. At first he could only wonder about Hyperion, to keep his mind off Priscilla—he was sure the wyvern would be taken and re-trained, being fairly young, and given to another knight. A dark part of him hoped Hyperion would refuse to be broken in again, would refuse to respond to a new name or carry a new rider, although that meant he'd be killed, and Heath didn't want that.

Eventually he had no choice but to be consumed by his guilt over Priscilla. After all his promises to her, after how long it had taken him to assure her he could never leave her, he'd had to leave anyway. And now he could never return. He'd never fulfill their dream of marrying, never have a child with her, never share her bed again.

It had only happened once, but he was still plagued by the thought, now that he was so far from her. Despite being a renegade, he was still a knight, first and foremost, and had always intended to keep Priscilla's honour intact. The way she'd looked at him with those green eyes, though, just a fortnight before Vaida had found him, and the way she'd smiled and asked him to stay…he couldn't resist. She trusted him so completely that she gave him everything.

That made being captured worse than anything: the breaking of that trust. He'd be killed and she would always think of him not as her lover but as her betrayer. A man who took and left. A traitor. That's all he was to anyone, now.

At least Erk was there for her, he thought bitterly. It didn't escape him how the boy looked at his betrothed. If he'd stayed loyal to her this long, even after seeing her accept another man's proposal—and out of love, not practicality or obligation—then he surely wouldn't leave her now. She needed a man like that, if she could ever find it in herself to trust again.

A creak broke his thoughts, the sound of the door to the tower opening. At first he thought it was his guard bringing his meal, but he usually only got one at sundown; it was still afternoon. The figure that eventually walked in front of his cell wasn't the usual hulking footman, either: it was lean, carrying a blanket in one arm and resting its free hand on a cocked hip. He'd recognize that posture anywhere, he realized as she pushed one end of the blanket through the bars.

"Commander Vaida?" he asked, standing and pulling it through.

"Figured you were cold up here," she said.

"I have been, Commander. For the past several days."

"It would've looked suspicious if I'd come to you right away." She took a step closer and wrapped her hands around the bars. "I wouldn't be sitting so idly, if I were you."

"What else am I to do?" he asked her bitterly.

"I hear there are people trying to break you out of here."

No—that couldn't be true. That was too dangerous, too kind. "Commander—"

"It's not me, whelp; close your jaw," she snorted. "But people are coming. I expect they'll be here within a day or two. I just thought I'd let you know."

"How should I prepare?"

"I've no idea, and whatever you decide on, don't tell me. Look." She stared hard at him, and even after all these years of knowing her it was hard to hold her gaze. "One of us is going to die because of this, you realize that? If you get away and I live, your life is wasted, because I know you'll go to Priscilla of Caerleon and I will simply find you again. So you must kill me, or let someone else do it. However, if we re-capture you and _you_ live, I will be suspected immediately. I must be the one to kill you, when the time comes."

_Can you do it?_ he wanted to tease her, but he knew the answer already. She absolutely could, and would do it twice for Prince Zephiel. "I understand, Commander Vaida."

She left without another word, without a single glance or gesture of farewell, and that was how he knew the next time he'd see her, it would be the last time. He wrapped the blanket she'd brought tight around his shoulders.

* * *

He was finally there: after all these weeks, after all this trial and error, after all the fires and stories and laughing children, Kent had only one knot left to make.

He left Rath's tent to show Mae but Kale met him first, running out of the tent and giggling, arms outstretched. Kent picked the toddler up easily in one arm and swung him around, making him laugh harder, before he put him down and stood to greet Mae as she emerged.

"This hour is my last hour here," he said, holding Lyndis's bracelet out for her inspection, and she smiled at it. "I know it's not enough time to give anyone a proper goodbye, but I can't tarry. I've been away from her side for far too long."

"I think your lady will be very pleased."

"She's easy to please," said Kent. "I want her to be…assured."

"Well, if this doesn't do it," said Mae, "nothing will."

He smiled back. "I saw the scouts ride out this morning. Is there word of your husband?"

"Yes. He should be back by nightfall. I suppose you won't be able to meet him."

"We'll be back," he said. "Lyndis and I both. We're coming to live in Sacae just as soon as Caelin is stable."

"Until then," she said, and clasped his hand. He knelt to give Kale a long hug. Afterward he said goodbye to Chief Dayan, to Guy and his mother, to the elders, to everyone who had told him legends and taught him customs. Rath was nowhere to be found but Kent couldn't leave without seeing him. Despite having loved Lyndis, Rath had overcome his resentment to teach him everything he'd known. Kent refused to leave without offering him the only thing he had.

Eventually he found him, where neither of them had sat in days: behind Rath's tent, at the farthest outskirts of the camp. Lately they'd been sitting toward the centre, where they could talk to others, and he thought that the nomad's spirits had been lightened a little bit by this. If they could accept Kent, after all, as a complete foreigner, how could they alienate the son of their chief, no matter how long he'd been absent? And they didn't.

But there he sat, alone.

"Rath," said Kent suddenly, making him turn and stand. He held the bracelet out to him and ventured, "You make the last knot. Without you I never could have made this. I could never have shown Lyndis what her culture means to me. This way she shall always carry a piece of you with her; it's my thanks for what you've taught to me. Perhaps it would put your heart at ease."

Rath was very still. The wind tugged on his woven clothes and swept his dark hair against his face, but other than that, he did not move at all, save for his eyes, which quickly flickered back and forth between Kent's and the almost-finished bracelet dangling from his fingers.

"You are a selfless man, Kent," Rath said softly, after a long moment had passed.

He felt himself color slightly at the praise, only lifting his hand in response, further extending the bracelet in invitation.

Rath stared at it for a little while longer. Finally his lips stretched into a peaceful smile, he shook his head in gentle refusal, and he turned and walked away.

It was all the goodbye either of them needed. Kent pressed Lyn's bracelet over his heart and watched Rath's calm gait until he had disappeared from view. Then, lifting a silent prayer that was partly to his saints and partly to her gods, he smiled and tied the final knot himself.

Mere moments later his horse was saddled and he was racing back toward his canton as fast as he could go.

* * *

It was a holy day, something Hector never personally put much stock in, and he was going over records in his study when there came a violent knock on the door. He stood, a little startled, and opened it to find an extremely grave-looking Oswin.

"Lord Hector. I noticed Serra wasn't at the chapel today, when I went, and became concerned—a cleric is never permitted to miss a holy day. When I went to her room, I found her extremely ill."

Hector swore and was on his way to her rooms immediately, Oswin following. "I told her not to sit out in the snow like that! How bad is it?"

"I called another healer, milord, but he said there is nothing he can do."

"That doesn't tell me anything, Oswin!" He felt his heart start to stutter a little. _Damn_ it, he hated when his friends were sick!

"She is feverish, and she's been babbling. Seeing things that aren't there."

"How did this happen so fast? I saw her just last night!" They arrived at her door, and while Oswin went in to check on her and speak with the other healer, Hector remained in the doorway with his arms folded, too afraid to get closer. The only person he'd _ever_ been in the same room with when they were ill had been Farina. He just hadn't been able to help himself. She had always suffered alone, and he hadn't wanted that trend to continue.

"She keeps asking for someone named Erk," said the healer, and Oswin looked to Hector.

"I'll send for him," he answered them. "How long should I say she…?"

"If the fever doesn't break, my lord, I'm afraid she won't outlive three days."

"But…" No messenger could make it to Caerleon and back, with Erk, in less than three days! Not on horseback, at least. If only he hadn't sent Farina to Pherae! "All right, I'll think of something."

He prowled off to the kitchens, about to ask around for the messenger with the fastest horse, but right when he got to the double-doors of the great hall, there she was, standing opposite him.

"Farina," he said, pushing back the urge to go to her and wrap her in his arms. He'd missed her, as always, and she looked cold. Even if he'd butchered his explanation of the League's mandate—told her he'd _like_ to kiss her, like a clumsy fool, but had to marry a noblewoman and _not_ a pegasus knight—his feelings for her hadn't changed.

He thought he might've liked to marry her instead of a noblewoman.

But instead of returning his greeting, of giving any indication of their friendship, Farina stalked toward him and demanded, "What, exactly, are you trying to do?"

"Huh?" She _always_ assumed he had it out for her; he never even knew what she was talking about! "What do you mean?"

She came to a stop before him and planted her hands on her hips. "When I delivered the letter to Lord Eliwood, he told Lady Lyn what it said. The part about the League I already knew, but they were sad for you because you mentioned that you _cared about a commoner_. Are you kissing any other mercenaries? Not that I know of."

"I…didn't write that," he said, his mind spinning.

"How else would he have known it?"

Blast. He'd written about kissing her, and Farina must have arrived in a terrible mood…and Eliwood must have figured things out. And said something, aloud, to try and make Farina feel better.

Obviously it hadn't worked.

"Look," he said, "I don't pretend to know what fantasies Eliwood cooks up for people; the boy was raised on courtly romances. And right now I don't care. I just found out that Serra's extremely ill. She's asking for Erk and the healer says she might only last three days."

Farina took a small step backward, at that. "What? How did…?"

"I don't know. It came out of nowhere." He tugged at his collar, feeling much too hot and nervous. "A horse isn't fast enough to get to Caerleon and bring Erk back. I need you. I know you just got here, but—please. I'll pay you triple. Quadruple."

"Quintuple," she said, brushing past him into the kitchens (and maybe a little too close; there was enough room that she didn't have to touch him). "But we can negotiate that when I get back. Let me pack food and I'll be on my way."

"Farina." He grasped her wrist to stop her for a second, and she looked back with an exasperated expression. He stroked her arm, just once, with his thumb. "Thank you."

"Anything for a friend," she said, her face softening just slightly, and then he let her go and watched her hurry off.

_A friend_, he thought. It was a relief. He was afraid that by kissing her he'd shattered something he valued deeply. _I'll take it. For now._

* * *

They made it to Bern in record time, although parts of the journey had been rough. The days were already cold but the nights were _bitter_, and eventually they'd had to start huddling for warmth. At first Sain was excited at the prospect, hoping for the chance to sleep with Fiora in his arms, but Della only raised an eyebrow at him and went into Fiora's tent before he could. He was forced to sleep next to Marcus, and the older knight seemed just as displeased as he was, having been accustomed to his own space for so long.

Sain got to talk to Fiora on the road, at least, which was pleasant, although he suspected that half the time she wasn't really paying attention to him.

"It's because you're so darn flowery," Della told him one night, after playing around with Fiora's pegasus, Makar, like he was some giant winged dog. The tactician had an odd affinity with it, despite how terrible she was with _normal_ horses, which Sain found sensible: a strange creature would surely get along better with other strange creatures. "Who's going to believe a word you say when you don't even sound like a real person when you say it?"

"This," he retorted, "is why nobody wants to court you."

"So you finally admit that Eliwood isn't interested in me."

"No, he just doesn't want to _court_ you. He wants to skip that and marry you right off so you can share a bed with him every night. But once a couple gets married, my dear, they don't only share a bed to sleep—"

"Lalalalala I can't hear you!" The tactician stuffed her fingers into her ears, making Sain grin. He always felt a little malicious teasing her like that, but she got so embarrassed that he found it too funny to resist.

As the four of them reached the gates of Bern's fortress, after a lot of trouble with the mountainous terrain, they found the doors—as always—firmly shut. A guard stationed in one of the towers on either side called down to ask their business.

"I may have to start just making crap up, so roll with it," Della warned them in a low voice, before she called, "We are ambassadors, sent from Ilia with an urgent message. We must speak to your general!"

Asking for the general had been Marcus's idea, surprisingly enough. He said that if they drew the head of the forces away and managed to delay him from giving orders for even a minute, it could help them immeasurably.

"Present yourselves," the guard said, sounding bored. Fiora spoke up first, since she was the only actual Ilian among them:

"I am Fiora of Ilia, Commander of the Fifth Wing!"

"Wing commander?" the man snorted. "You march up here and ask to see our general with no appointment and a wing commander?"

"This was too urgent to make an appointment, or to send a messenger in advance!" protested Della. "Please, let us in! It's important!"

"You don't have written permission? A password? Are you willing to be searched?"

"Now he's just harassing us," Sain muttered. "This is mortifying; I _told_ you it wouldn't work."

"Shut up," Della hissed, just before an oddly familiar voice piped from another spot on the wall,

"Come on, good sir, you don't think these four could be a threat even if they _were_ lying, right? Just look at them: two girls, an old man, and some dandy. They're nothing."

_Dandy_? Sain wondered, bristling, but Della was grinning. When the new speaker showed himself by leaning over the wall, and pulled off his hood to reveal a shock of sandy hair, Sain had to grin as well. "Matthew of Ostia. Oh, he has _impeccable_ timing_._"

"Back into the kitchen, with you!" said the guard gruffly to Matthew. "We didn't hire you to waltz up here and talk!"

"I'm on break, sir! Besides, all this suspicion of yours makes me wonder if maybe you're afraid you can't _handle_ two girls and some half-starved Ilian men!"

"That's enough out of you!" The guard turned back to Fiora and said, "You can come in and wait in the great hall, but the general will be along in his own sweet time, mark my words!"

The gates creaked open and the four walked inside, and Matthew was gone with a very typical smirk.

When their mounts were taken off to the stables by a few page boys (all of which fought over who could lead Fiora's pegasus), they were led inside the great hall, a wide and sparsely-decorated expanse. They were instructed to wait for the general to show up, and then they were left alone. Servants still bustled through now and again, but as the minutes ticked by and Della never gave the signal to run for it, Sain started to tap his foot.

"What are we waiting for?"

"This guy," said Della, nodding her head as Matthew came through with a tray of food.

"Ilian travelers!" he said cheerfully but quietly, coming to a stop before them. "Well, I've never met an Ilian. How d'you do?"

"Just delightful," Della answered. "As a pegasus knight, I have to admit I'm curious: where do you all keep your wyvern riders, in Bern? Do you stable them, like we do our pegasi in Ilia?"

"Oh, no ma'am. The knights keep them in a sort of roost. The thing's built into the battlements. On the west wall."

Sain listened close, since that was his job: to release the wyverns.

"I assume your stables are on the grounds, then?"

"Yes'm, off to the north, just past the armoury."

Della glanced to Marcus, who nodded almost imperceptibly, before she asked, "Don't you all worry about keeping your mounts so close? What if a knight tried to desert on a wyvern? It must be easy to get away."

"Well, there's never been a renegade that Bern hasn't caught, and they'd have an awfully hard time escaping from the Deserter's Tower. It's the highest one, wouldn't you know. The southwest one."

"Very interesting."

All of a sudden, Matthew dropped the platter. It caused a tremendous crashing sound, and Sain jumped before he got on his knees alongside Della and Matthew, to help clean it up. Somewhere amidst scattered potatoes and spilled sauce, Matthew pushed Della an iron key, which she quickly slipped into a sleeve.

"I thought we might have to fight for this," she whispered.

"A gift from Vaida," Matthew whispered back. He hastily scooped whatever he could onto the platter and stood, stammering, "Begging your pardon; but I need to fix this mess I've made."

They let him run off.

"Now," said Della. While everyone in the great hall turned to look at the disgraced kitchen servant, they split ways immediately, Marcus and Fiora headed toward the stables and Sain and Della headed toward the wyverns.

"You and I have got to figure out what to do about weapons," she whispered as they hurried along. "Marcus can get his when he sets the horses free, and Fiora can get hers when she insists that she looks after Makar herself, but I'm _useless_, and I forgot to tell Marcus to get your weapons from _your_ horse."

"I can steal some from a guard, maybe," Sain ventured. "Attack him from behind."

"We don't want to cause trouble until we absolutely have to." They spotted the roost up ahead through long, tall windows, and Della stopped. "Okay, you know the plan—I'll hang back so you can work your magic, you charm some servant into letting us in, we set all the wyverns free, and we'll take the one named Hyperion to the Deserter's Tower. At that point it's probably safe to cause a ruckus and steal weapons; I'm sure people will be trying to kill us by then."

"How are we supposed to know which wyvern is Hyperion?"

"Because he will _answer_ to '_Hyperion_,'" she said, rolling her eyes. "They're pretty smart. If Bern hasn't broken him yet, he'll try to find Heath."

"How do you know so much about pegasi and wyverns if you can't even ride a _gelding_?"

"I didn't ask for your sass!"

She folded her arms and leaned against the wall, and Sain patrolled about for a little while until he found a maid that he thought particularly beautiful wandering with a laundry basket on her head. It hurt some, to deceive her in such a way, but he had to remind himself that he was doing this for Priscilla—for true love! That noble cause made it easy: spout some compliments, recite some poetry, and when she was giggling, ask her to show him the most fascinating thing in Bern—"besides, of course, your peerless eyes."

"I don't know, Sir," she said, swaying with the laundry basket. "We could get into an awful lot of trouble."

"I suppose this all depends, then." Feeling a great deal more risqué than usual, he put his hand under her elbow to help support her load and let his thumb caress the soft inside of her forearm. "Are you the sort of woman who likes trouble?"

"Maybe just for a minute," she conceded, blushing very prettily, and he grinned as he followed her. Della appeared at his side, falling into step with them, and the servant paused when she noticed her.

"Sir? Who's…this?"

"My sister," Sain lied fast, at the same time that Della said it. The servant's suspicion faded away and she led them out to the roost, a jutting outcrop of the battlement covered in intricate nests made of stone and straw. Sain bumped his fist against the tactician's offered one when the servant had her back turned.

"Who are these two, Missy?" one of the wyvern knights complained as he tended to his mount. "You aren't supposed to be out here; get inside."

"They ain't doing any harm!" she said. "Just Ilians, is all!"

"My little sister wanted to see the wyverns," said Sain, ruffling the tactician's hair just to tick her off, "since we've come all this way."

The knight rolled his eyes but went back to caring for his steed. Della led Sain and the servant off to the back, where they found a wyvern with his back legs chained to the ground. He snorted and tossed his head as a knight tried to fit a bridle on him, with another knight looking on, bored.

"I told you we should've tried to re-name him," he said. "Re-train him from the very beginning. Maybe then he'd forget who he was and who he carried."

"It's too much trouble," the first insisted, shoving the bit into the wyvern's mouth. "He won't answer to anything but Hyperion; he's too old to learn everything again. It doesn't help that he can probably smell Heath from here still; upwind in that tower, with no glass on the windows or anything."

Sain looked sharply at Della, but she shook her head and told him in a low voice, "Wait until they've saddled him for us."

So the two knights struggled, and they argued, and they finally got the beast ready for flight. By the time they had, before the first knight could mount him, Della ran up to them and started asking all kinds of annoying questions.

"Get out of here!" said the knight, annoyed. "You aren't supposed to be around; we're training this one."

"Please excuse her," said Sain as he hurried to her side. "She doesn't understand social rules of any kind and—"

Della proved his point by grabbing the knight's sword out of the sheath at his side and slamming it right into his breastplate. He was clearly startled, but no damage was done.

"Allow me," said Sain, rolling his eyes and plucking the hilt out of her hand. He stabbed the knight in the stomach, beneath his armour, and twisted the sword before he pulled it out. The second knight drew his own sword and slashed at Della, who ducked with a pathetic shriek, and Sain made quick work of that man as well. The noise had alerted the knights at the other end of the long roost, and he tried to sigh to calm his breathing as he looked down at his companion, who was looting the second soldier of his sword.

"What made you think that was a good idea? You don't know the first thing about fighting."

"I _said_ I don't want your sass, Mister! Now get Hyperion to move, quick!"

Feeling like this was a terrible idea, Sain whacked the wyvern on the flank with the flat of his sword. A quick wing-beat almost knocked him back, but he regained his balance and Hyperion lifted into the air, soaring toward the Deserter's Tower.

"Cool," said Della, tugging on his sleeve and jerking her head toward the knights that were now running toward them, swords drawn. "Now figure out what to do about this. Fiora should be along shortly to take me up to Heath."

"But what about _me_?"

"You'll just have to keep your chin up for a while. She'll be back to get you once she's dropped me off. Heath and I will escape on Hyperion, and you and Fiora will escape on Makar."

"But my horse—"

"The enemy, Sain!"

He raised the sword just in time to block a lance strike, complaining, "I don't like using swords! Lances are more knightly!"

"Long hair, don't care!"

And then she was gone, jumping right off the edge of the battlement and into nothing, said hair flying out behind her. Sain screamed in a panic, sure that this time she really _had_ gone insane, until Makar swooped up into his line of sight, with Fiora pulling Della into the saddle and scolding her behaviour. Sain rolled his eyes and went back to fighting the other knights, slaying one and throwing one over the wall (where there was no pegasus to catch him) before he forced his way past the screaming servant—"Deepest apologies, my darling; this is for true love!"—to start causing mayhem.

XxX

"I thought you were going to wait for my signal!" said Fiora as Della held onto her waist for dear life, Makar surging higher after Hyperion and toward the tallest tower. "That was reckless, and irresponsible, and—"

"You know what your problem is? You freak out when things don't go exactly by the rules."

"And you don't abide by _enough_ rules!" Fiora snapped, losing her patience.

"I'm very aware!" she said dryly. "But it's not exactly my fault!"

Fiora thought back to the device Della had showed her. It was so alien that it was impossible not to believe the tactician when she insisted, _This was my duty, and I failed. I can't rest until everyone is happy—I'll restart a million times, if that's what it takes._

She wasn't entirely sure that she understood, and she didn't like the idea that the foreign device had a hand in fate, and that _Della_, of all people, owned it. All she knew was that she had to help, if she could. What other choice did she have?

They reached the tower, at a lower window, and overheard an officer shouting at the guards: some Ilian insurgent had set loose all the horses in the stables, and someone else was setting free all the wyverns. The guards rushed down the stairs to help capture them, and Fiora maneuvered Makar close to the window so that Della could slide through.

"Looks like Heath's cell is completely unguarded," the tactician said as she dropped to the ground. "Holy crap, I can't believe this plan is working. It has so many logical problems that—"

"See to Heath!" said Fiora. "I have to help Sain!"

She whirled her pegasus around and hurried back to the ramparts where she'd left him. He was irritating, yes, but if he got his fool head injured, she just _knew_ she'd feel bad for him.

XxX

Heath stood quickly when his guards ran down the stairs. _Ilian insurgents?_ he wondered. _What on earth does that mean? Is this what Vaida warned me about?_

His question was answered when Lord Eliwood's tactician came sprinting up the stairs toward him, alone, with an iron key in one hand and a sword that was clearly too heavy for her in the other. He froze as she unlocked his cell and swung the heavy bars open.

"Nice to see you, Heath! I've brought you this weapon. Please use it like a boss, because I am a frailbody and don't know how to fight."

She handed him the sword, and he took it with numb fingers. "Della? What are you doing here?"

"Breaking you out. Duh. You may have ditched Bern, but as far as FE6 is concerned, you were wise to do it, so I'm going to call you an innocent man. Because Bern _sucks_. Now all we have to do is wait for your—ah." She was cut off as a roar sounded from outside, and a gust of air whooshed in through the high window.

"Hyperion?" he asked breathlessly. "How did you—?"

"Don't ask questions, I don't have answers. It's a mess of plot holes, good luck, and Sain flirting. Now, how to get out of here…" She put a hand to her chin in thought, eyes darting around, until they finally landed on one of the cracks in the stone on the opposite side of the room. "Heath! I need you to break that fourth wall."

"What?"

"Look, I do it all the time: Barack Obama! See? Now hurry!"

Bewildered and driven more by a desire to see his mount than anything else, he ran to the far wall and slammed the sword's pommel into the stone. It crumbled easily around the corners. A few more hits and he was able to start pushing out bricks, forcing himself not to watch them as they fell.

"What's the plan?" he asked as he looked back toward Della, once he had a big enough hole for them to jump through.

"The plan is get on Hyperion and run for our freaking _lives_. Matthew and Sain are causing distractions in the castle, Fiora is going to cover Sain, and Marcus set loose all the horses. We'll regroup outside the walls."

Hyperion swooped close enough to jump to, with a happy roar—saddled and everything. Deciding to ask no more questions, Heath jumped onto his back as he passed and flew him in a tight circle, checking for injuries or irregularities, before he returned to the window and helped Della climb on behind him. It was then that he realized he had one more question.

"How is Priscilla?"

"Don't ask me," said the tactician. "In a few days, you'll be asking her yourself!"

xXx

For a long while Sain had maintained a vantage point at the top of a narrow spiral staircase, picking off soldiers who came at him one by one, but eventually he'd heard clanking behind him and had to retreat before he was sandwiched by enemies.

They finally caught up to him on the battlements opposite from the roost. He put his back in the corner uneasily and held out his sword. What good would it be for him to die here, like this? How the fair women of Caelin would suffer without him!

He managed to slash down three of them before a fourth arrived and cut open his belly, and he realized for the first time that this decision had been incredibly stupid. No plan was without risk. And he was about to lose his life here, abandoning Kent and Lady Lyn, all for the sake of another man and another man's love. Blood spilling down his front, he managed to kill the man who had scored him but was only rewarded by an arrow to the thigh from an archer farther back.

He'd made his peace with death a long time ago, but that didn't mean he was _ready_ for it. And neither was womankind. But before he could despair, there was a clatter just behind him, and a white wing buffeted his head.

"Get on!" Fiora commanded, holding out her hand to him. Her pegasus was perched precariously on the battlement wall, keeping its balance with its wings. He grabbed her hand and let her pull him into the saddle—too slowly, for a soldier's spear gashed her thigh. She squeezed her knees into Makar's sides and took off anyway, with him holding onto her middle for dear life.

When they were out of range of the archers, he snapped the arrow in his leg and pulled out the head with gritted teeth.

"You're badly hurt," she said sharply.

"My dear, this is but a scratch!"

"Sain, I can _feel your blood_ through my uniform. There's a vulnerary in my saddlebag; get it out _now_."

Her voice was so commanding that he had no choice but to obey, although he was quite dizzy from the flight and afraid of letting go of her. When he pulled away he saw that he had indeed stained the back of her white dress. While he found the vulnerary and un-tucked his wet shirt, he saw Fiora nod to the Deserter's Tower.

"Ah," she said as a black, winged speck flew off. "There they go."

While she sped up to meet them he examined his wound. It was too bad for a vulnerary to heal completely, although he spread the salve along the edges and felt it at least _begin_ to close, and the bleeding to slow. Beneath him, the fortress courtyard was in chaos, with wyverns flying free and horses running amok. Sir Marcus was there, surrounded on all sides, laying into his foes without taking a scratch.

"Sain!" Della shouted when Fiora got close enough to Heath's wyvern, "what did you _do_?"

"I'm just one man!" he protested. "You couldn't expect me to escape completely unscathed!"

"We're almost over the wall," said Heath. "What then?"

"To Caerleon," said Della. "Since you ran before they got there, no one will think to look for us there."

"Vaida would."

"And what about Sir Marcus?" Sain asked as he gestured to the courtyard below.

"He'll meet us in his own time," said Della. "He's fine."

"What makes you say that? You can't just _leave_ him there!"

She only chuckled. "Well, one time I got bored, and decided to un-equip all of Marcus's items and leave him in the middle of the field to see what would happen. He got surrounded by two myrmidons, two monks, a cavalier, two archers, a sniper, and _Lloyd_. And it took twelve turns for him to die. _Twelve_."

Sain was aghast, the wyvern and pegasus pushed forward, and Della repeated, "He'll be fine."

xXx

The tactician and her friends seemed to have assumed that they would be able to fly over the walls of Bern's fortress scot-free, but Heath knew better. It was true that Bern's might had been in a steady decline for years, and half of their wyvern knights were probably off harrying innocents at the border for false glory—the reason he'd deserted in the first place. But they were once the mightiest army in the world, and they still had a great many capable soldiers defending their stronghold.

And the mightiest of them veered in fast from their left flank, with three others behind her.

"Hey look, it's Vaida!" said Della. "Do you think she'll just let us go?"

"No," said Heath. "Not at all. She has a duty, too."

They had made it just over the wall when they were forced to turn and confront her and her men.

"I figured you should at least be given a fighting chance," she called when she was close enough.

"It's kind of you," said Heath, and landed and dismounted boldly. "But I'd rather have our fight on foot. They've been starving my wyvern to break him and he's surely no match for Umbriel."

The men following Vaida looked to her, but she landed and slid out of the saddle as well, ordering, "Take care of the others. I'll deal with the whelp."

They didn't waste any time, diving toward Fiora as she tried to land. Heath was vaguely aware of Della stumbling out of the saddle behind him, trying to run to the others, but he kept his eyes on Vaida. She approached him so slowly, as if she had all the time in the world—she was stalling until reinforcements arrived, Heath realized, and rushed at her. She parried his attack easily on her lance with a sharp ring of steel, and shot her point out toward his chest. He jumped back just in time.

They tested each other for what felt like too long, feinting and circling. Heath had enough time to realize that Fiora was in dire straights, with only a wounded Sain and an unarmed tactician to help her. Two of the knights went for Sain, perhaps to dispatch him quickly, and she was pressed to defend him. She landed so he could dismount, but there wasn't much she could do for him beyond that since she was harried immediately by the remaining man.

Heath attacked, was parried hard. The impact jarred his wrist. Vaida was too strong, had always been too strong; he'd never beaten her in a spar before—

The soldier flying, attacking Fiora with blows so hard that they'd snap her lance and kill her in the same stroke, was going to win. Heath could see it, and felt dread sink into his stomach as he blocked a strike from Vaida. They weren't going to make it out alive.

The javelin came out of nowhere, tearing through the wyvern's wing and sending it and its rider spinning to the ground for an unpleasant death. Marcus came galloping into his peripheral vision, white horse streaked with blood, and Della threw up her hands and cried, "Hooray for contrivances!"

Vaida's next thrust almost went through his shoulder, but he parried just in time and forced himself to take his mind off his companions. They'd have to take care of themselves. He lunged at her but she shoved him back, pushed him into the retreat, suddenly more savage.

"Why toy with you when you're obviously weakened?" she asked.

"I'm as strong as I need to be," he said with a hard cut to her side. She flicked his sword away.

He'd circled so that he could see the others behind Vaida, and though he tried not to look, he couldn't help it when one of the knights jabbed for Sain with his lance while Marcus and Fiora were dispatching the second. The blow would surely kill him, if it tore into his wound.

But Della was there—"I am _not_"—grabbing the lance's shaft—"restarting"—yanking it off course—"again!"

The wyvern knight stabbed at her instead to shake her free. The point of the lance tore through her side, she released it and simply slumped down in the field like a tired child, and Sir Sain—

He was punished for the distraction when Vaida's own lance bit into his arm, and he staggered back, gritting his teeth.

"Thinking of your lady love in Caerleon?" she taunted.

That made him forget the pain. He raised his sword and dove at her again, slashing viciously, and for just a moment he saw doubt cross her face.

"What about her could possibly captivate you?" she challenged as their steps quickened, as their blows hardened. "That mousy redhead has the personality of a gnat! What business does a renegade have being so loyal to _her_?"

"You will regret this!" he swore. "She deserves it more than anyone! Because she alone has the compassion to look at a man and tell him he's no traitor if he refuses to kill innocents, even on his kingdom's orders!" Every word he said had a strike to accompany it: "Because that! Kingdom! Is! _Damned!_"

She forced him back with a furious growl, and he thought he must surely lose the duel soon, when the one living knight asked,

"Innocents? Sir Heath, they said your brigade slaughtered them!"

A lie, spread to besmirch their names, and Heath knew that so deeply because he was _there_ that he didn't hesitate, not even when Vaida hesitated for just a fraction of a second at the obvious treachery of her superiors. He stepped beneath her defenses and stabbed her right through the belly.

She stared at him in surprise for a long moment before she gripped for his shoulders for support, sliding down his blade and heavily against him. Too late, he realized she'd goaded him on purposefully, to make him angry. Angry enough to strike down his own commander.

"Well done," she whispered as her blood poured over his hand and dripped onto his boots.

"I'm so sorry," he whispered back, and kissed her face before he shoved her back and yanked his sword free. She was dead before she hit the ground. He did not allow himself to feel guilt, although he felt a great deal of remorse—she had warned him that one of them must die. For Priscilla's sake, it could not be him. And Prince Zephiel was in too precarious a position for one mere wyvern knight to save. Perhaps even Vaida had known that.

The one remaining knight cried out to see her fall, and his sentimentality cost him his life: Marcus drove his spear through his heart. His wyvern reared, as if to run amok, and Umbriel let out a bellow that would surely have every knight back in the fortress knowing their position.

"We have to go!" Heath ordered, jumping back into the saddle.

xXx

Sain was ready to climb up behind Fiora, but noticed at the last moment that Della wasn't moving. Just sitting on the ground, right where he'd left her, with her hand against her bleeding side.

"And you call your Lord Eliwood a pansy," he grumbled, kneeling in front of her and trying to draw her up, ignoring his own pain. She'd taken the hit for _him_, and it might have saved his life, but there wasn't time to be touched by it.

"This wasn't supposed to happen," she mumbled with wide eyes.

"Yes, it's bad form to hurt the tactician. But it's all right."

"Sain." She held out a shaking, blood-slick hand for him to see; he clasped it to assure her that it wasn't something to be frightened of.

"I know, darling, and I'm so sorry. But the wound isn't deep, and it'll only get worse if you sit here. This is no time to go to pieces." He pulled her to her feet and helped her up in front of Heath, not trusting her to hold onto the other man with how shocked she looked.

"You're too pale," she said as he let go of her.

"Sir Sain of Caelin never blanches in the face of danger," he said sternly, even though he knew he'd lost too much blood already. He jumped behind Fiora with a hand pressed to his stomach and they were flying off as fast as they could go, Marcus galloping beneath them.

* * *

Erk was in the garden when Farina arrived, just pacing. In the past few weeks the relationship between him and Priscilla had intensified more than he would have thought. She came to his room every night now to kiss him and slide her hands under his shirt and let him put his hands wherever he wanted, and the kiss wouldn't break for _hours_. He knew she was only seeking comfort from him, but he still couldn't ever push her away. Lord Pent would surely be ashamed of his poor reasoning, if he knew. But when she was so close, reason was useless—his heart got in the way.

The last night troubled him the most. He tried to never let things reach his bed, because he was starting to distrust himself, but she pulled him there and had him pinned beneath her before he could protest.

She'd asked him to take her as she had before, but this time there were no tears, there was no trembling. With his mind still so hazy from her kisses, it was difficult to tell her no, but he knew it had to be done. There were so many reasons why it was impractical, dangerous, simply a bad idea.

The tears came then. She'd asked him what about her repelled him and all his well-thought arguments on pregnancy or scandal had no effect. It was like reasoning with a child. That made him think of baby Klein, and he wondered if maybe he had no place here in Caeleon. Maybe it was time to go back to Etruria. Or to Ostia, to see his old friend.

But he pushed the thought away. Priscilla didn't love him, no, but she _needed_ him, and he would be there for her. Eventually she'd come around. Then _he_ could marry her and bring her to Etruria _with_ him and they could have nonsensical arguments with their _own_ child, although ever since reading that genealogy book Erk hadn't been able to get the idea of daughters with pink pigtails out of his head.

So he kissed Priscilla gently and held her until the tears stopped and sent her off to bed. Letting her stay the night would only be worth it if she loved him, he felt. And that would take a lot of time. He would just make good on his promise and continue staying by her side.

Farina's news made that difficult. He'd gotten so lost in his thoughts that she startled him when she landed, her pegasus kicking up snow.

"Come with me," she said without even dismounting. "They need you in Ostia right away."

"What?" he asked. "Why?"

"Serra's ill. She's been asking for you."

"Ill?" he repeated as his heart knocked awkwardly against his ribs. "How ill? Since when? What are her symptoms?"

"I don't know," said Farina. "The second I got back they sent me off to get you."

He knew what that meant, but he couldn't believe it. "Surely she's being overdramatic. I can't just leave; you don't understand."

"You have to. Come on."

"But I promised—"

"Erk, they say she might only last three days, and I've spent one of them getting here!"

That stopped him in his tracks. Despite his assurances to Priscilla, despite how she needed him, in an instant he knew what the right decision was.

At this moment, Serra needed him more. And he had to be there for her. As an old war comrade and as a best friend and as a man who—

He cut that thought off, because it confused him. "I'll go. But I must explain this to Priscilla. Please go inside and eat, and sleep some, and I'll get all my things together. I'll be ready to leave this afternoon."

"All right," said Farina, and pulled on the reins to guide her pegasus in the direction of the stables. "But the sooner, the better!"

Erk stared after her for a long moment before he had the courage to go find Priscilla. He went to her room and knocked, and when she opened the door, green eyes half-lidded, for the first time in his life he did not feel his knees grow weak.

"We should take a walk," he said.

xXx

He purposefully avoided saying anything until they reached the spot in the garden that was marred by the snow Farina's horse had landed in; with how strange Priscilla had been acting lately, he wasn't sure how she would take the news.

But all she said was a soft, "Oh."

"She is my oldest friend," said Erk. "Please, try to understand. If this is the last time I ever see her…"

Priscilla's compassion won out, as it always did, and she took his hand with a sad smile. "Of course, Erk. You must go to Serra."

"I will return," he promised her.

"Don't," she said as she withdrew her hand quickly. "That's what Heath told me."

"I am not a man who breaks my promises," said Erk, perhaps a little sternly. "I _will_ return. And when I do…I will ask for your hand. If you will have me."

She stared at him for a long while before her eyes filled with tears. "Really?"

"Yes."

"Of course I will have you, Erk," she whispered as her eyes lowered to the ground. "That would make me happier than anything."

"Then wait for me," he said, putting gentle fingers under her chin to tilt her face up. "I will go to Serra, hopefully she will recover, and when she is well again I will be back to fulfill my promise. You'll have a real proposal then."

"You can't just leave me with your word," she said. "I need more. I need some guarantee."

"What else can I give?" he asked, and got his answer when she grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled him close.

"Take me," she said. "Like you wouldn't last night. Please. We can consummate our marriage right now."

"Right here in the snow?"

"I don't care where. We won't be interrupted. You don't understand how badly I need you." She started planting kisses his neck, mussing up his hair.

"I-I don't know about that," he said as he took a step backward. She followed and started untying his doublet, beneath his coat. "But what if I get you with child?"

"Then when you return to Caerleon we'll have a child to raise together!"

She pressed her lips to his and Erk had an odd, fleeting thought: red hair, not pink.

"This isn't what you want," he protested as he broke away, even as his arms circled around her.

"You have no idea what I want!"

"You don't love me!"

She stared at him with a mixture of shock and pain before she cried, "Of course I love you! You're my dearest friend. You make me feel _safe_. You're my only hope of—" She cut herself off and colour rose in her cheeks.

"Hope of what?" he asked, baffled, but she couldn't respond because two dark shapes shot out from the tree line and soared over the garden: a pegasus and a wyvern.

"Hyperion?" she breathed, looking as if she was about to faint, and Erk released her immediately.

The wyvern landed quickly, surely alerted by the flaming red of her hair, and Erk had just enough time to register that the pegasus landing behind it carried Fiora and a weak-looking Sain, and that a horse carrying Sir Marcus burst out of the trees as well.

"What's going on?" he asked.

Heath dismounted his steed and drew himself up to his full height, none of his knightliness diminished by his windswept hair or the bloodstain on his right sleeve.

"That," he said, looking straight at Priscilla, "is a very good question."

Erk realized too late how disheveled he looked; how swollen Priscilla's lips were from the night before.

"Oh," Priscilla whispered weakly, unable to tear her eyes from him. "Oh. _Oh_."

Erk felt his stomach plummet, and though he waited for it to eventually reach his toes, it just kept falling—perpetually. At the same time, guilt was buoying his heart up until it caught in his throat, as he was struck with a sudden realization:

_I've ruined this._

Not his relationship with Priscilla; no, for the first time in months, that was the farthest thing from his mind. He could now see that because of his love, because of his actions…something between Heath and Priscilla had been skewed. And that shouldn't have happened.

_He's alive._ _And_ _I've made a mistake. I've made a very big mistake._

Priscilla's knees gave way, and Heath caught her quickly, but handed her off to Erk immediately, muttering,

"I see she's in your care now."

"Heath," Erk tried, but the wyvern knight had already grabbed his reins and turned as if to go. Della, sitting up in the saddle, and Sain on the pegasus behind her, both had their hands covering their mouths. It might have been funny if he didn't feel so sick.

"I will assume I can use your stables as an old friend," Heath said. "In the meantime I plan to ask your parents for haven. Sir Sain is injured and needs attention before we can travel further."

"Heath!" Priscilla cried to his back, from Erk's arms. "I can explain!"

He didn't reply. He simply left, and Fiora and Marcus followed, looking confused.

When they were alone, Erk let Priscilla go and said the only thing he could manage to say: "I must pack. Farina is waiting for me."

Tears were streaming down her face. "Goodbye, Erk. I'm so sorry."

"What are you apologizing for?" he asked bewilderedly. "This is my fault. I loved you out of turn."

"And I used you. I know I did. But I _do_ have my reasons. Before you go—after I've seen Heath—please find me. I promise that I will explain everything to you."

"I will find you, then," he said, and left her, feeling more confused than he ever had in his life.

xXx

The lord and lady of Caerleon were busy, so Heath had to wait a while for them to enter their throne room. They looked astounded to see him, but he explained his situation, and they granted him his old room and a stay as long as he needed, and for his friends as well.

Once he was in the room, he slammed the door shut behind him and resisted the urge to start smashing furniture. Priscilla, _his_ fiancée, in the arms of that mage! He'd wanted her there after his _death_, yes, but it had hardly been a month! For all she knew, he was still going to return to her, and she should have been _waiting!_ How long _had_ she waited? A day? A _week?_

He thought she loved him, thought she alone understood and forgave him, and the one night they'd spent together had been his proof of that. How long had it taken her to lie with _Erk?_ The thought made his stomach churn. Priscilla was no different than any other noblewoman. She was flighty, insecure, selfish—and he had been blind.

A knock on the door startled him, and he wrenched it open to find her standing there.

"Please let me in," she begged. "Heath, you don't understand."

"I understand enough," he said bitterly, but stood aside to let her in, leaving the door open behind him. She threw her arms around his waist and hugged him tightly, weeping into his chest, but he refused to return the embrace.

"Heath," she sobbed, "where have you been?"

"You know I am a fugitive," he said. "Bern came for me. Vaida knew I would be here, and gave me time to run, and so…I ran."

"You were to be my husband!" she protested, pulling away from him. "We would have fought for you!"

"I did _not_ want you involved! Vaida warned me in order to spare you! If I told you where I was going, she and her knights would have tortured you for information. Tortured! I wasn't going to risk that! I had to leave without you having any inkling of where or why!"

"I would never have told!"

"I know," he said quietly. "And so they would have killed you. I couldn't stand that. I had to go."

"Your arm," she said, reaching out to touch his wound gingerly. It was so like old times that he didn't pull away.

"They captured me just a couple of days after I left. Vaida was always too strong for me." _Until the end_. "They kept me in a cell—the Deserter's Tower, which holds traitors until their execution—but Della, Sain, Fiora, and Sir Marcus came to break me out. Vaida helped them, because she knew I was innocent, but in the end…" He swallowed the lump in his throat. "I had to defeat her, to escape. We came straight here. With her dead, no one else knows I would go to Caerleon."

"You're safe now," she breathed. "Oh Heath, I've worried so greatly for you. I feared that Bern was the reason you left, and I was quite sure they had killed you."

"So how long was it before you accepted Erk?" he snapped. "Did you mourn for me at all? I promised you I would return, and _here I am!_"

"That isn't fair!"

He had to sneer, at that. Who would have thought Priscilla could ever be so weak-willed? If he had known, he never would have agreed to spend the night with her, to have her as he'd have a wife—which he'd thought she _would_ be. It sullied his honour as much as hers. And what had she told him, in the garden?

"You have an explanation, do you?" he growled. There was fear in her green eyes at that, but strength as well, and she met his angry gaze easily despite the tears on her cheeks. "For why you hadn't even waited a month for me before you went to another man? Well, after everything I've risked to be with you, after _killing_ Commander Vaida to escape, it had better be a _good_ explanation!"

"No," she told him quietly, as she took his hand and pressed it over her stomach. "It isn't good. It's wonderful."


End file.
